Stung
by MiaGhost
Summary: What if the Grievers only Sting in the evening because their poison is only potent when it's influenced by nighttime? What if the Gladers have never kept a Stung person overnight? What if the morning after a night in the pit Newt came to, and Thomas realised he couldn't let Newt get banished ever?
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

The commotion drew Thomas's attention from where he was dumping the contents of his woven basket onto the earth surrounding their tomato plants. He'd been in the Glade for the day, a welcome break from Running the Maze, although it had been intended as a punishment set down by Alby for fighting with Gally.

He looked up, raising one hand to shield his eyes from the dying blaze of the sun, crawling unfailingly towards the horizon. His gaze sought the large group who were collected around the Doors, and as he watched a figure stumbled from the opening before collapsing as the Gladers reached for him, a few helping him upright and heading towards the Homestead. Thomas dropped the basket without conscious thought, the shouting growing in volume, panic amongst the noise. Two more figures stumbled out from the shadows of the forbidding opening, and Thomas recognised Minho's favourite blue shirt as he started an even jog towards everyone.

He was halfway there when he recognised the figure draped over the two Runners, and as the sunlight splintered on the down-turned blonde head, his heart seized up before diving into a scattered rhythm.

Thomas took off at a fierce sprint, his feet moving faster than he remembered them ever doing before. He tore across the grass and through the gathered Gladers, blind to the terrified whispering as his eyes locked on the unconscious older boy. Minho and Ben had handed him off to others, both of them swaying as they tried to get their breath back. They were laying him on the ground, lifting his brown, too-big shirt up as Thomas skidded to a halt beside him, dropping to his knees, oblivious to the sharp jolts of pain and the shouts of the others. His eyes flew over the pale skin, seeking the dark, ugly black and purple blotch that perched just below his right ribcage like a fat toad on a lily pad. Thomas's heart stuttered.

 _Newt_.

"What happened?"

"Is he-"

"Alby! What-"

"Oh God, it's Newt!"

"He's been stung!"

"That's not possible, what-"

The air screamed with their words, but Thomas couldn't tear his eyes from that dangerous purple mass, the blue veins of poison reaching out even as they watched. He opened his mouth to speak, his throat dry and his voice cracking. He barely managed to spit the strangled words out.

"Minho? What happened? Why was he- He wasn't supposed to be-"

His breath hitched and he tore his eyes away, seeking answers from his friend. Minho looked at him worriedly, his eyes full of a dreadful resignation that squeezed Thomas's heart in the worst way. The conclusion struck Thomas full in the face, the whispered fear he'd heard from Chuck in the dead of night. When the younger boy couldn't sleep he would lie and fret, and had soon taken to voicing his fears, whispering them in the dark air between them at night. Thomas had listened, knowing he was helping Chuck by listening to his fears. One that frequented that air between them in the darkness was the Sting. Chuck had arrived the month before Thomas, and although he'd never seen anyone get stung, he knew about it. Knew about the process from the other Gladers and he he'd explained it all to Thomas. He'd told Thomas what the Gladers had to do when one of their own got Stung.

"No."

Minho looked away, his shoulders sagging. Thomas couldn't believe it, he couldn't accept it. The tight group before them parted as Alby strode to the front, looking down at Newt with sad, dark eyes. Gally stood behind him, looking uncharacteristically afraid. He looked to Alby for guidance, his eyes wide and uncertain. Alby swallowed, and then looked around at the others with an air of authority. The Gladers grew quiet, waiting for his orders.

"Minho? What's the meaning of this?"

Thomas looked to Minho just as the others did, and his friend squared his shoulders automatically, standing tall.

"We don't know. He must had gone into the Maze for some reason. We found him on our way out. He's… He's been Stung."

A ripple of panicked whispering kicked off, faces turning to each other, fear splashed in every set of eyes.

Alby kept himself composed, but he couldn't look at the prone form of his second in command. He clenched his fists, and addressed the Gladers again.

"Newt was the second of us to be sent up. We all owe him in one way or another. He's held us together through the bad times. He kept me sane that first month he was here, before we realised you lot were coming every month. He's always been one of the best of us."

The Gladers were nodding, many had tears filling their eyes. A few turned away and walked off, and Thomas's fear grew. An awful inkling was spreading up his back, chilling his stomach, his very soul trembling.

"He'll always be with us in spirit."

A deep booming sound rumbled through the air. The Gladers jumped as one, fearful eyes round as they stared into the Maze. The blare of the alarm sucked away all other sound, every atom vibrating. Thomas felt it in his very core, a familiar fear washing through him.

"Jeff, Ryan. Get him up. Leo, get the Pushers."

Thomas watched as the boys jumped to attention, scurrying to comply. Alby stood, legs firmly planted and his arms crossed. He was the picture of sure authority. Thomas watched, frozen, as the two boys slung Newt's arms over their shoulders and heaved him from the ground. He watched in horror as they began forward, heading for the opening, even as the Doors were beginning to close. Thomas watched until his eyes caught Minho moving away, his shoulders a defeated arc, and that's what broke the alarm's hold on him. He threw himself to his feet, ignoring the shouting it caused.

He didn't think. In one movement he swung back an arm and launched it into Ryan's neck, knocking the boy down. Using his momentum to his advantage, he swung Newt around with an arm around his chest, dragging him from Jeff. He pushed for what was left, tumbling and tripping as he forced their bodies forwards, away from the dreaded closing Doors. He couldn't let them throw Newt out. He couldn't allow them to abandon him to the Maze, to the Grievers.

Newt didn't belong to the Maze. He belonged- He belonged to the Glade. He belonged in the Glade, being second in command and making sure there was peace and harmony amongst the boys who lived there. He belonged leaning against the trellis frames he'd helped to build, the mid-day sun filtering through his hair, lighting each strand up like gold. He belonged sitting against the fallen trees by the campfire, the firelight flickering across his cheekbones as he finally relaxed for the day, his smile easy once the Doors were closed for the night. He didn't belong to the Maze. Thomas couldn't let them send him to it.

He tumbled to the ground, the air thick will the alarm and the cries of the others. Feet rushed his way and he stumbled back to his feet, Newt suddenly heavier in his arms. He began to truly panic, a thick and heavy feeling coating every limb as though trying to drag him down. Her heart hammered painfully.

"Chuck!" he cried desperately, and the younger boy was at his side in a second, hooking one of Newt's arms over his shoulders and pack-peddling hurriedly. Thomas didn't stop to ponder the way that, right or wrong, Chuck followed his unspoken commands wordlessly.

The deafening alarm continued, as the doors inched closer to each other, and Thomas fell under the weight of a body launching itself at him. He struggled, clinging to Newt's arm, his fingers locked in the fabric of his shirt. He could hear Chuck hollering as they dragged the youngest Glader away. The scuffle was briefer than he'd like and as they tore Newt away from him Thomas screamed, a dark and horrid sound, desperate.

"No! You can't do this! He's- _No_! Alby _please_!"

The strong arms held him in place as he flailed, twisting and kicking out while he howled, his mind flicking the switch away from logical and rational. He dissolved into a sort of blind and panicked madness. He didn't truly register the ferocious screams that mingled with his own in the air, the devilish snarls and howls that sent fear and panic and screaming through the crowded Gladers. He was lost to the struggle and he struggled for what felt like forever, till he couldn't any more and his screams grew hoarse, and eventually crumbled into sobs. Still they held him down until even the sobs cracked and fell into low moans. His body shuddered with the disbelief that they could do this, and he could do nothing about it.

When he stilled and was finally calm, and rationality had started to creep back into him, they let him go and backed away, giving him space to sit up. Minho knelt by his side, compassionate eyes staring at him patiently as the others left. Thomas hung his head, unable to meet his eye. Without a word, his friend passed him a water bottle. With a defeated sigh, Thomas accepted, flicking him a grateful look. Minho simply nodded, waiting until Thomas had chugged half the bottle before speaking.

"They've put him in the Pit. You caused such a fuss that they missed the Closing."

Thomas couldn't control the seep of relief that weighed him down, making his limbs feel impossibly heavy. When he looked up, Minho's eyes were full of sorrow, but almost bitterly pleased, though he didn't say anything. When he did speak again, his usual dry tone was gone and no trace of his trademark sarcasm remained. He spoke lowly, softly, as though afraid Thomas might break.

"Someone'll have to keep watch all night, make sure he doesn't get loose. We don't know what'll happen, we've never missed the Closing before."

His dark blue eyes held a fear that went unvoiced, and Thomas felt it too. They had no idea what Newt would become over the course of time they had until the next night's Closing. The poison was already working its way through his system, destroying his very being, crumbling the boy they both knew. Thomas swallowed, a misery unlike any other coating his tongue, coldly dripping down his throat.

"What happened?"

Minho looked away, towards the closed Doors. For a moment he didn't say anything, and then he looked back at Thomas.

"I don't know. He must have followed us in, nobody knows why. Nobody _saw_. We heard him screaming when we were on our way back. Griever must have taken off right after, because we didn't see it. We didn't know what to do, so we brought him back. I mean, we've only ever lost three Gladers to the Griever sting in the whole time i've been here, and i've been here two and a half years."

Thomas groaned, looking down at the dirt beneath him, his eyes tracing the disturbance of his earlier struggles. He closed his eyes as a wave of grief washed over him. Minho sighed.

"They'll put him out at tomorrow's Closing, you must know that. What happens to a Glader who gets stung isn't pretty. What he becomes isn't anything like what he was before. Thomas, he won't be _who_ he was before, not after the poison's in his system. He was my friend too. He won't come back. It's not fair, but we all have to learn to live with it."

Thomas still didn't open his eyes, Minho's words buzzing unpleasantly in his head, round and round, tripping and tangling until he couldn't take it any longer. He pushed to his feet, shrugging off Minho's hand when his friend tried to touch him, whether to help, comfort or hold him back he wasn't sure. He turned to leave.

"I'll take that Watch then. Punishment for…" he trailed off. He'd only gone a few strides before Minho's voice called out a final time.

"He's gone, Thomas. Newt's gone."

He didn't stop, how could he? He kept right on walking, heading for the Pit. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight anyway. He didn't deserve to. He was going to sit by the Pit that night, to make sure- To keep Watch. And he'd sit there all day tomorrow if he had to too. He refused to think about tomorrow's Closing. He wouldn't entertain the idea until he absolutely had to. His insides squirmed, and he felt just about ready to empty his meagre stomach contents all over his shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

The two guards looked at him warily as he approached, and when he swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck they looked away.

"I'm sorry." he muttered, eyes caught on the bamboo of the hatch to the Pit. He couldn't see inside from the angle he was stood at, but he could hear an unhealthy sounding splutter. Even as he noticed it he feared this ragged gurgling sound that he thought could be breathing. The sound made him cold all over.

The guards shuffled awkwardly, they were barely older than Thomas himself, both fairly new to the Glade, and the day's events had shaken them. They looked at him for instruction, and he jerked his head.

"I'll take watch. Get some rest."

They hesitated briefly before setting off, both pretending they weren't relieved to be putting distance between themselves and the poisoned boy in the Pit. Thomas stood where he was for the longest moment, staring at the hatch, where the flame of the torch and the dying sunlight danced and curved over the dull yellow gold of the bamboo, and listening to the awful sounds the occupant was making.

Steeling himself with a shaky breath, Thomas began to shuffle towards the darkness that lay within the Pit. He'd spent a night in there himself. Newt had put him there as punishment for running off into the Maze to help Minho back when Ben had sprained his ankle and couldn't make it on his own. They'd made it out with inches to spare, and Gally had hissed and spat like a cornered cat and demanded Alby and Newt do something about his disobedience. Alby had let the choice fall to his second in command, and Newt had given him a night in the the Pit with no dinner, and assigned him Garden duties on his own for a week. He used a day of Gardening as a punishment for him often, and although Thomas knew the others believed he hated Gardening, - Gally relished when Thomas was assigned it- Thomas suspected Newt knew how Thomas secretly enjoyed the chance to breathe and settle into a day in the Glade. Newt had yet to truly punish him, and that made Thomas curious and grateful.

Now, standing over the Pit and afraid to look within, Thomas felt wracked with guilt. If it hadn't been for his reckless behaviour and disregard of the rules these last few weeks, maybe he wouldn't have rubbed off on Newt, and the other boy wouldn't have gone off and gotten himself…. hurt.

Thomas knelt on the sparse grass that was tufted around the Pit enclosure and swallowed thickly, digging his fingers harshly into the dirt and tufts of weed to ground himself as he felt his stomach lurch and his heart kick into overdrive. The rattling rush of garbled breathing made him feel unsteady and he blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the darkness as he held his breath and leaned in.

Cloaked in the gloomy shadow lay a lone figure, and even though he'd known who it was going to be it still tore the air from his lungs. The boy was coiled, curled tightly like a pile of rope in the farthest corner and Thomas could just barely see the uneven rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by that awful sound. He bit back the fear clawing up his throat. Straining his neck to see everything he could, he tracked the familiar limbs. Slim arms and clenched hands, long fingers stained with dark streaks. -Dirt or something else, Thomas couldn't tell.- The torn brown shirt was hanging off one shoulder, a pale triangle of unblemished skin ghostly white in the shadow of the Pit. One leg was stuck out awkwardly, and Thomas's heart clenched painfully. His face was turned away, tucked in to that tight curl, and the blonde hair stuck together in clumps, almost completely flat where Thomas could see it sticking to the smooth nape of his neck. He felt his eyes stinging, and resigned himself to the knowledge that he was about to cry.

" _Newt_."

He hadn't recognised the urge to speak until he'd spoken, the name a painful whisper. The choked breathing hitched and Thomas stilled, dread tingling up his spine when the figure in the Pit shifted, the head coming up like a sniffer dog that had caught a scent. He watched, unable to move as the body slowly uncoiled, and then jumped in shock when the face flashed round in his direction. He couldn't move as he finally saw his face. His heart dropped.

Newt's face was pale, paler so than usual. Gone were the spots of warm colour on his high cheeks. Every inch of his face and neck was littered with ugly dark bruises and cuts and thin blue veins, and his hair was matted to his scalp with sweat and blood. His lips were twisted in a loose gape, a narrow gash running down from the left of his top lip to his chin. Thin trickles of dark blood tracked down his chin. The inside of his mouth was incredibly red, uncomfortably so, and his eyes were ringed with dark smudges, his pupils blown wide and his eyes bloodshot and crazed. Thomas felt a genuine fear as he looked upon the face of his best friend and recognised nothing of the Newt he knew in those dark eyes.

The figure who looked like Newt but wasn't crawled forward in a sudden scrabble that was so fast Thomas fell backwards from the rush of it. The dark mouth opened and an incredible screech came out, a blood-curdling and painful sound. As it screamed the creature's mouth gaped wide, and the eyes blazed with the gleam of hellfire as it clawed wildly at the hatch. The long fingers scrabbled in the dirt walls of the Pit, leaving deep gouges as it thrashed and shrieked. Thomas shuddered, his heart beating a hard rhythm against his ribs and his lungs struggling to suck in enough air to keep him alive.

And then the noise stopped and the face tilted a little to the side, staring blankly at him as though waiting. The thin chest heaved, the ragged, laboured breathing coming back. Thomas didn't know what it could possibly be waiting for. He swallowed, struggling to get both his heartbeat and his breathing back under control. He was pouring with sweat, his shirt drenched and sticking to him like a second, rough skin and his hair trailing in his eyes. He pushed it back with one unsteady hand, his eyes never leaving those dark black holes. He got back to his knees slowly, wary of the heavy, gargling breathing. He was careful not to get too close to the bars.

"Newt, if you can hear me, it's Thomas, hey, can you understand? It's _Thomas_."

The head stilled in the growing shadows, and Thomas squinted to make out the confused expression on the bruised face. He pushed his advantage.

"Hey, hey Newt. You're Newt. Newt, it's Tommy, man. It's Tommy. I know you can hear me. It's Tommy."

And just like that, Newt's eyes cleared, as though he'd grasped hold of sanity again.

"Tommy?"

His voice cracked and pitched, and he blinked, confusion gathering in the dips and hollows of his face as a familiar frown appeared between his eyes. Thomas's heart leapt. This could be huge. This could mean a way to save Newt from the Pit.

"What's going on, wh-where… Am i in the Pit?"

He shifted to sit, his bad leg causing him to hiss in pain from the way he'd landed when they'd thrown him in.

"What the shuck? _Tommy_?"

His voice trembled as he caught sight of his hands, turning them over in the faint light, finally looking up at Thomas with frightened eyes. Thomas had never seen Newt so afraid. He was the calm voice of reason when things went wrong. Not like this. He met his gaze, swallowing heavily. As he opened his mouth he was bowled over by a large body and he landed hard on his back, stunned as his head struck something hard, the wind knocked out of him.

"What was that noise? Thomas, what did you do now?"

Thomas gasped, dragging in a lungful of air as the figure rolled off him, and now he could hear the pounding of several pairs of feet as the other Gladers came to see. He crouched, leaning over to retch as his balance righted again. His head throbbed from the impact. He glared up at Gally, who was glancing between him and the Pit as though suspicious Thomas had rigged some trap for him. Thomas shook his head to clear it, trying his best to choke down some air.

"He's- He's alert, Gally. He knows who he is-"

He had to double over again, retching. When it stopped he looked back up at Gally, who was now staring at him suspiciously and with something close to fear written on his face.

"What?"

"He knows, he knows who i am, he's aware of who he _is_. I thought you guys said he wouldn't be?"

Gally narrowed his eyes, looking from Thomas to the Pit again, tipping his head out to look inside.

"And you wanted to put him in the Maze!"

Thomas's anger flashed suddenly, a hot rush flaring uncontrollably and he launched himself at Gally, tackling the bigger boy to the ground. Gally fought back and as they tussled the shouts of the approaching Gladers distracted Thomas enough that Gally got the upper hand, pinning the smaller boy to the ground and baring his teeth at him as he shouted. He punctuated each point by shoving harder onto Thomas, a bruising pain across his throat.

"I have had enough of you! You are not in charge here! You do not tell people what to do, do you understand! We have _rules_ here, and they are very clear!"

Thomas twisted, shoving at the arm that pressed against his wind pipe.

"Never harm another Glader." he spat, and Gally looked pained before he drew away with a dark glare.

"You attacked _me_ , i was only putting you down, everybody knows that."

He looked to the others as he reached his feet and they nodded, some aggressively so. There were a few very frightened faces peering at Thomas as he sat up breathlessly. Gally threw his arms up as he spun around to point at Thomas.

"See? This Greenie is trouble, just like i said. He's going to get us all killed if we don't _do_ something. He-"

"I meant Newt." Thomas wheezed.

Gally looked at him as though he were insane. Thomas swallowed rapidly, trying to clear his airways to speak, his eyes seeking out Minho in the crowd.

"He's aware, he- he spoke to me. The poison hasn't taken him over, he can- he knows who he is."

Gally shook his head, and Minho paced towards the Pit, ignored by everyone.

"Come on, we know that's not true! We all saw him earlier, he wasn't himself. He was snarling and snapping, trying to hurt us, trying to _kill_ us all! He nearly got you, Jeff! We saw that, didn't we boys?"

There was a round of agreement, but the faces still looked unsure as they looked between Gally and Thomas. Minho spoke, the roar of noise hushing as he did.

"He's out. How alert was he, Thomas?"

All eyes turned to him and he crawled over to the Pit, his fingers curling over the bamboo bars as he peered back down at his friend. Newt was unconscious, his chest rising and falling slowly with those dreaded grumbling breaths. Thomas spoke without looking away.

"Alert. He knew where he was, he knew _who_ he was He-" Thomas glanced to Minho and then looked away again, his voice low, "He called me _Tommy_."

Even when the hushed murmuring rose again into quiet fearful questions Thomas couldn't bear to look away from the crumpled form of his best friend in the world, his lifeline to survival.

"Newt! Newt man, you gotta wake up, _please_ man! Newt!"

The still figure grumbled, a rasping growl as he shuddered, lifting his head. The arms locked, the back arching as another scream ripped itself from Newt's throat, causing the hands grabbing at Thomas to retract, releasing frightened shouts from the Gladers. Thomas shook but refused to back off, just knowing that his friend was in there and desperate to show the others.

The creature seemed to have other ideas. The dark, bloodied face turned to him in the same second that the body was launched at the hatch bars. A snarling howl wrecked the air around them, and the long fingers caught Thomas's wrist through the gaps, clawing deep gouges from his skin. He gasped in shock, a scream locked in his throat. He shook the hand off automatically and sat back, staring at the madness in the dark eyes and feeling his eyes well with tears at the pain rushing down his wrist.

"Newt! I know you're there, Newt! It's me! It's Thomas, man! You gotta snap out of it!"

Thomas struggled at the arms that bound his chest, dragging him back.

"Newt!" he howled, throwing himself forward ineffectively. Gally had him, and Gally was stronger than him.

"Newt! It's Thomas! It's Thomas! _Newt!_ No! Gally let me go you bastard, Minho please, he's in there i know he is! _NEWT!_ "

Gally dragged Thomas all the way to the Homestead and Thomas struggled, flailing and kicking every inch of the way, his heart struggling with every snarl and screech from the Pit that he could hear over the shouting of the other Gladers. Gally finally tossed him to the floor of the main room, his face slick with sweat and his chest heaving as he stood above him, glaring down.

"Okay Greenie. We'll do this the hard way. You're in here for the night. You are not to leave, do you understand me?"

Thomas looked to the dark figure who stepped up behind Gally, the only person that could go over Gally's head with this.

"Alby, please-"

"Enough!" roared Alby, his face a tight canvas of anger and strain, fear locked away.

Gally stepped back, tipping his head down a little as he stepped behind their Glade Leader. Thomas sat up, scrambling to his feet with his hands up.

"You'll do as Gally says. You _will_ remain here. Is that clear?"

"Alby-"

"Is. That. Clear?"

Thomas closed his eyes as his stomach rolled, heart racing.

"Newt-"

"He's _not_ Newt. Not any more."

Alby's face was dark, his eyes clouded with a deep sorrow even behind the wall of his anger. Thomas shook his head. He wouldn't accept it. There was no way he _could_. Newt was still in there, the poison was only hiding him.

"He goes out tomorrow when the Doors close. It's just how life works, Thomas. Sometimes the Griever's kill one of our own and we have to keep the remaining Gladers safe. You will accept that if you are going to live here peacefully. We only work if everyone follows the rules."

Gally was nodding, his eyes unreadable and his lips a thin, hard line on his face. Thomas shook his head, sorrow building in his chest as he repeated Newt's own words.

"The most important thing is that we all have each other, because we're all in this together. That's the only way this works, Alby. We have each others' backs. Newt is still in there, I spoke to him, man. I _saw_ him. If you throw him out, you'll be the one who killed him. Not the Grievers."

He panted as they stared at him, their faces impassive. He struggled to draw breath, gasping as the fear still coursed through him, squeezing the air from him. Eventually, Alby jerked his head and Gally left. Alby continued to stare at him until they were truly alone. He backed to the doorway, his eyes boring into Thomas with a concentrated belief in his words.

"The first time is the hardest. I haven't forgotten the first time I had to give the order to send one of us out there. But this is what you'll have to learn to accept, Thomas. Life is not easy, not even when we're safe and encased within the Glade."

He closed the door against Thomas's shouts, and Thomas could hear him instructing others to guard it. He didn't know who but he knew they'd never listen to him, however he pleaded for them to let him go. He paced to the door, looking out into the gathered dusk. FryPan, Ben and Jeff stood guard. Thomas didn't miss the fact that Minho was not among them. Gally would be following Alby around like a puppy, he knew, but the lack of Minho's presence told Thomas that Minho was not in full agreement with their Leader. It didn't necessarily mean he would join Thomas in an outright stance against Alby, but it was good to know nonetheless.

He settled on the floor just inside the door, crossing his legs and listening absently to the murmuring of his guards. His mind was on Newt, feeling awful because he wasn't with him. His friend must be absolutely terrified by what he was going through and Thomas wasn't there to reassure him. With that guilt weighing heavily on his gut and mind he settled in to await the dawn, and his release from confinement.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

The hours dragged. Thomas couldn't sleep and he got up several times to pace; the action a release, channeling the tense energy that was continually building over the quiet calm that blanketed the Glade. Thomas almost resented it. The whole world had changed. Newt had been Stung and yet the air was settled and familiar as it was every night. He had to work to keep himself calm. Destroying part of the Homestead would not go down well with Alby or the others. It just got more difficult as the minutes dragged reluctantly into hours.

The first light of the oncoming morning found Thomas settled in his cross-legged position by the door, watching the slow and steady movement of light breathing across the sky. When it was light enough that Thomas could see the tree-line across the Glade silhouetted against the backdrop of the pinkening sky he stood, pressing his face to the door to ask his captors to let him out.

"It's morning. I spent the night. Everyone will be getting up now, and i can bet you have jobs to do that are more important than baby-sitting me."

He met FryPan's eye and the other boy shrugged, nodding.

"I should be starting breakfast soon, and i'm totally shucked after… yesterday."

He looked away as he spoke, and Thomas coughed.

"Yeah man, look… I'm sorry about that. But Newt-" his eyes began to burn again and he swallowed thickly, "It hit me hard, y'know?"

The bigger boy shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Jeff. Ben must have left at some point, because try as he might to angle his gaze through the spaces in the door, Thomas couldn't see him.

"Yeah man, i know. Newt was good people. He- Hell he was the only decent thing about this place First day."

FryPan's eyes were troubled and heavy, and he looked to Jeff again. The scrawny boy nodded, his dark eyes holding a terrible sadness as he looked to Thomas uncertainly. His voice lowered.

"Is it true?" he shifted away from FryPan's warning swat, "Is he really… You know, _himself_?"

Thomas looked him right in the eye. He could read the other boy's doubts, see how they were kept at bay only just by hope. They were all just kids, weren't they? They couldn't help but _hope_. He nodded as seriously as he could, his eyes never straying.

"He's in there all right. The poison- it's only _masking_ him, like a cover over his head. He spoke to me guys, he _did_. He was really clear and he _knew_ who he was and he wanted to know what had happened. Right before Gally showed up. Newt is still in there, i'm telling you."

Two sets of wary eyes looked back at him and Thomas absently licked his lips and swallowed, nervous that they believe him. How else could he convince the Gladers not to banish Newt? They needed to be working on a way to get him to surface from the poison's grip, not throw him out to the Grievers.

He didn't _belong_ to the Maze.

Jeff looked to FryPan and Thomas was relieved when the GladeCook nodded solemnly, seeming to accept what he was saying. The two boys shifted to open the door.

"I gotta start breakfast. You just make sure and not cause any trouble with Gally and Alby, at least for a few hours you hear?"

Thomas smiled gratefully, the rush of air that greeted him as he was turned loose intoxicating.

Jeff caught his wrist.

"Man, they didn't even wrap you! They must've been mad as shuck. Here, hold still."

Thomas had forgotten all about his arm and looked down at the other boy's touch, startled. As though switched back on by the act of being noticed, the three deep gouges began to throb, and Thomas winced as Jeff's cool fingertips ran over the raw skin.

"Shit, these are deep man. How did you cope with that in there?"

Thomas shook his head, struggling to pay attention to the conversation or concern now that he was free to return to the Pit. He looked out across the morning as though the Pit called for him. His heart was racing again, kicked up from the pain in his arm and the longing to see Newt again. He was practically hyperventilating before Jeff let him go and he took off in a sudden sprint, surprising even himself.

He raced to the Pit side in a matter of minutes, and ignored the surprised and sleepy cries from the two Gladers posted as Guards. He knelt before the Hatch door, straining through the lingering darkness to see the blonde. He looked up when Ryan touched his shoulder, and when he recognised the boy he had punched the previous day he paled.

"Man i'm sorry, i didn't- I wasn't thinking straight…"

The boy didn't smile, but he shook his head.

"I know. It'll slide, but only this time."

Thomas nodded his gratitude as he tried to steady his breathing, every breath harder than the last. He was sure he'd pass out before the day was done at this rate. He swallowed. Ryan sighed.

"You pack a helluva punch, anyway Greenie. Cummon Vik. Let's go. It'll be breakfast soon."

As the other boy hesitated, Ryan took his elbow.

"Cummon, he isn't going to do anything too stupid, are you Thomas?"

Thomas's eyes had strayed back to the figure at the bottom of the pit, and it was almost painful to look away again to address the two boys. He tried to crack a smile and failed.

"No more so than usual."

"I didn't hear that." called Ryan, already making his way down the slope in the direction of the Kitchen. Thomas sighed with relief, turning back towards the Pit hatch with worry squirming in his gut.

Newt was sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest gentle and steady, and Thomas was immeasurably relieved to notice that the awful rasping breaths had faded into quiet puffs. He didn't do anything for several long moments but watch, the morning light reaching like thin fingers in amongst the shadows, one tuft of his light hair glinting like hidden treasure in the dirt. He let the rise and fall of Newt's chest level his own breathing, and he felt his heartbeat relax for the first time since he'd seen Newt and Ben stumble into the Glade.

Thomas lowered himself onto the dry ground, leaning back against one side of the Pit hatch. The Glade was waking up properly, the relaxed calls of the morning workers muffled and comfortable in the air. He watched the forms trekking across the open green, the atmosphere of a regular day unfolding as though the previous day's events had not occurred. It made Thomas feel vaguely irritated, but for now he was content to sit in the morning quiet and wait for whatever was coming next.

He turned his face to the side, leaning against the smooth surface of the bamboo as he watched his friend sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Barely a half hour later, just after the Doors opened for the Runners, _whatever_ turned out to be Newt waking up. The first groaning breath drew Thomas's attention and he was kneeling by the hatch by the time Newt reached a semi-sitting position. One long arm held him up in a low slouch, the other hand running through the thick mess of his hair. His pale face was scrunched in his trademark frown and his dark brown eyes squinted in the warming light. Thomas looked down at him with his mouth agape, hardly believing what he was seeing.

"Tommy? What's- What's going on?"

The blonde's skin was as milky pale as ever, the tops of his cheeks their usual warm rose. His face was still bruised and streaked with dirt and dried blood, but he looked human, and healthy. Thomas felt himself grinning.

" _Hello_? Tommy, what the shuck?"

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, and startled them both with a chuckle. It developed into an outright laugh as he stared at his friend's bewildered expression.

"Newt! Oh my god i'm so glad you're back!"

While Newt frowned at him in confusion he started to undo the ropes and belts that kept the hatch shut, tugging the door and letting it fall open with a bounce. He reached down to help Newt out, the other boy's hand gripping his and feeding the feeling of relief. He'd forgotten how light Newt was and they tumbled as Thomas over-balanced, landing in a heap. Thomas couldn't stop grinning. He looked at Newt, watching his friend sitting up and brushing dirt out of his hair, a quiet euphoria flooding him even as he got a better look at the cuts and scrapes and dark bruising that were scattered all over him.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

He could hear the strangled relief in his own voice. Newt looked to him with a worried expression twisting his face.

"What happened?"

Thomas sighed, sitting up properly and copying Newt's actions from before.

"You went into the Maze. Why? I mean you _hate_ the Maze."

Newt looked at him in confusion, his dark eyes conflicted as though his thoughts were battling inside.

"I don't remember. I mean, i _think_ i went in but i don't remember why... How- How did i get out? I don't remember anything!"

Thomas laid a hand on his shoulder to calm the rising panic in his voice, and shifted uncomfortably. When he spoke his voice was quiet and soft, his words careful.

"Minho and Ben and Michael found you on their way out. You... You got Stung, Newt."

The blonde looked at him in utter horror, frantically checking his arms and lifting his shirt, growing still when the dark black and purple disk caught his eye.

"Oh no."

His eyes were fearful and wide when he looked at Thomas, and he shook. He tried to speak but couldn't, his bottom lip trembling dangerously. Thomas held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Newt flinched, shuffling back and letting the shirt drop as though afraid of Thomas. The thought made him feel sick.

"It's okay. Newt look at me, it's okay! You're okay! I mean you went mad last night but look at you now, you're fine!" Thomas began to feel a little excited, giddy. "We have to tell the others, show them how much better you look! How are you feeling?"

Newt looked thoughtful for a moment, assessing himself. He looked back at Thomas nervously, licking his lips absently. It was a habit he had when he was thinking, or when bad things were happening. Thomas had always quite liked it because it struck him as such a _Newt_ thing to do. Toying with or biting his lips were those sorts of small habits that if you'd never noticed then you'd never know just how worried he was. It had made Thomas feel oddly proud when he had worked that out because it seemed like no-one else really noticed.

"Sore. I feel like i've been out Running the bloody Maze all of yesterday. Everything sort of throbs."

He looked again at Thomas as though seeking confirmation that he had. Thomas shook his head.

"You sounded like you were in pain last night. And you _are_ covered in bruises and scratches and shit, man. You looked like hell last night."

He looked him over, taking in all the changes.

"You look a lot better today."

Newt just stared at him. His brown eyes were deep and sad and conflicted, his familiar frown firmly in place. Thomas had to swallow and steady his breathing at the thought that if not for his temper tantrum the night before, Newt would have been given to the Maze and he wouldn't be looking at him right now. He itched to touch him, to reach out and make sure he was really there.

He'd done it before he thought about it, placing a hand on the shoulder of the boy sitting beside him. Newt turned to look at him and he looked so vulnerable in that moment that Thomas gripped the back of Newt's collar, his thumb brushing his neck and trying to ground his friend the way he so often did for him. The blonde's eyes flickered shut, and he released a slow, pent-up breath.

"I should be- I _shouldn't_ be _me_."

"I know. But you are, and once Alby sees he'll just _have_ to re-consider your Banishment and-"

"What?"

Newt looked horrified, his face paler than Thomas had ever seen it, his eyes huge round orbs. He looked terrified. Thomas swallowed, realising that bringing up Banishment was maybe not the right thing to do when one's friend has just recovered from being Stung.

"Well he ordered it last night, but i mean _look at you_! He can't kick you out now that you're better!"

Newt was shaking his head and looking dazed. Thomas hated to see him like that, his brain scrambling for a way he could make Newt feel better as easily as he made Thomas feel better. The blonde had closed his eyes again, his expression resigned. He pressed his lips together so hard they almost disappeared. Thomas shuffled closer, hesitating only a little before putting his arm around the slimmer boy's shoulders, relieved when Newt didn't pull away.

His relief was short-lived though. Newt turned his face inward till his cheek rested on Thomas's shoulder, and his slumped shoulders began to tremble. It took Thomas several long seconds to realise that his friend, the strongest person he knew, was _crying_. It took him twice as long to recover from the unpleasant shock of that realisation before he tightened his arm, unsure what else he was really allowed to do to reassure him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of the fact that his growing affection for Newt was clouding his judgement, just as it had last night. Unsure what else to do he simply held Newt while the other boy cried, his chin brushing the blonde's matted curls.

He didn't know how long they sat there, Newt crying quietly and Thomas agonising over his inability to help. When the shakes stopped and Newt began to sniffle, Thomas drew away a little, ducking his head to try and see Newt's face. The blonde turned away as he scrubbed harshly at his eyes, and Thomas could see the hot red flush crawling up from under Newt's collar. He squeezed his shoulder and waited until Newt was ready.

They both pretended it hadn't happened, getting up from the almost peaceful slope of the Pit and heading reluctantly down into the hubbub of the Glade in search of Alby.


	5. Chapter 5

Newt followed behind Thomas, which was really quite a rare occurrence for them and made Thomas feel even more uncomfortable about where they were headed. Newt was second in command, and he was the take-charge type, even when he didn't want to be. If Thomas and Newt were walking anywhere, Newt always led, or they walked side by side. To have him following behind him only made Thomas more afraid of what his friend had gone through. He tried to force it out of his head as they approached the buzz of Gladers flocking to breakfast.

Eyes flicked to them as they passed, none-too subtle whispers spreading like a rash amongst the gathered boys. Thomas ignored them, marching over to where Alby was seated, hoping Newt wonld follow his lead. Alby looked up as they approached, and he didn't look happy.

They stopped when they were near enough. Their leader was seated a little ways away from the others, and they stood close, blocking them off and creating a small triangle. Alby's dark eyes were burning into Thomas and he felt his anger rising in response, tamping it down before it got him into trouble. He didn't try to smile, looking back at Alby with a set jaw and dulled eyes. He could feel Newt shifting close beside him.

For a long moment nobody spoke, and Thomas was growing sick of the rushed, low words being exchanged behind them. He was almost at the end of his patience when Alby finally spoke.

"I don't remember giving any order for his release."

He didn't even throw a glance in Newt's direction, and that just pissed Thomas off more. He ground his teeth, biting back the response that jumped to mind.

"What is he doing out?" Alby demanded, his voice rising.

Thomas threw as much of his distaste for Alby as he could into his look.

"He's alert. Just like i told you last night. He's aware, and fully back to himself. I thought you should see, seeing as how you wouldn't even _look_ last night."

He knew his words were disrespectful and he knew he needed to be careful if he wanted Alby on side, but he just couldn't help it. There was an indignant anger boiling within him at the injustice of Alby's decision, and when it came to Newt, Thomas had to admit he was never truly rational. True to his expectation, Alby bristled and hardened at his tone.

"You watch your shuck mouth, Thomas. You forget your place, _Greenie_."

Thomas almost recoiled at the nickname, said so harshly in Alby's vicious tone it was a far cry from the playful affection when Newt called him by it. He had to swallow several cuss words before he spoke again.

"You forget that if i simply fell into place like everyone else, you'd have thrown Newt out last night, and _unconscious_ , before you'd even checked he was a threat. You-"

Alby stood forcibly, stepping into Thomas's personal space. He poked a finger at his chest, almost touching him.

"You've been here _three weeks_ , Thomas. _Three_ shucking _weeks_. You have no idea what it means to live here, what it means to belong here and be _safe_ here. You haven't seen them before. I _have_. I've had to send boys out there. Not because i _wanted_ to, because they put everyone else in danger. _Everyone_. You have no idea what that's like. So don't you dare come stomping into our Glade, breaking our rules and throwing our life in our faces because you feel like it because you _know nothing_ of what it means."

He was seething, and Thomas matched him, baring his teeth as he struggled to form civil words.

"He is _not_ a danger! Not now! For fuck's sake _look at him_!"

He swung his arm to point at Newt, and glared at Alby. He had never in his life wanted to punch anyone more. Not even when Gally was at his worst had Thomas ever felt this depth of rage. His eyes shone with a deadly sort of triumph when Alby couldn't do it. He drew him the filthiest look he could, head to toes and back to his face, making sure Alby could read his disgust in every inch of his face.

"You can't even look at him. You're too much a shuck-face _coward_ to admit that you might be wrong. You might never have needed to banish anybody, and you can't accept that. You won't even _try_ to consider it, you're so fucking stubborn. You're pathetic."

Alby glared at him for a single second before he there his punch, and it knocked Thomas so hard he reeled, his feet too slow to keep up. He landed hard on his backside, a hot pain exploding downwards from his eyebrow to his lip. It was starting to throb even as he took in a jolting breath and opened his eyes, getting to his feet. He stood and met Alby's eyes again, the hush that had fallen over the Gladers palpable and fearful. He turned his head and spat. There was silence for a long and uncomfortable moment. And then Newt spoke.

"Alby i feel fine. Really. Like i've been through the wringer, but i don't feel crazy. I feel like me."

His words were quiet, placating in that way that Newt so often was and Thomas could never achieve. He was looking at Alby with beseeching brown eyes, and Alby still wouldn't look at him. Their leader's face was blank, scarily so. His dark eyes stormed but his face was straight, his lips a thin line. Thomas continued to glare at him and Alby continued to glare back and nobody moved for a very long time.

And then Alby spoke again, and Thomas felt the world shatter like mirrored glass, the image that was left distorted and wrong.

"He goes out at tonight's Closing. He could go crazy again and we just can't risk anybody else getting hurt."


	6. Chapter 6

He glanced pointedly down at Thomas's bandaged wrist as Thomas simply stared back at him in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. He'd never much liked Alby but _this_? This was- He couldn't _believe_ it! This was murder! He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. His face muscles were as stunned as he was and they wouldn't cooperate with his commands.

He gaped at Alby. This couldn't be happening. There was no way Alby could be this cruel, if perhaps to Thomas then certainly not Newt! Thomas had watched the two together during his weeks in the Glade and there were close. There was an obvious understanding between them that Thomas couldn't guess at and that he'd pegged on their years together, their shared responsibility. But this… This was wrong.

"You can't."

He'd meant his words to be strong, forceful and resolute. He'd meant to throw them at Alby, at his stupid and unthinkable command. But his voice wouldn't comply. The words were lost, broken and confused the way Thomas felt inside. He couldn't even grasp proper hold of his anger because he was so stunned. He was swamped in disbelief. It couldn't be what Alby wanted, surely it couldn't? It just didn't seem possible. It wasn't right. He stared at Alby as his brain tried not to sink too far into the cold of Alby's decision. The consequences were unthinkable, the horror of it all unspeakable.

Newt's grip on his arm surprised him, as the older boy dragged the limb up so he could closely at the bandage.

"What happened to your wrist?"

His voice wobbled, and Thomas looked at him. His friend looked worn out, tired, worried. But his brown eyes met Thomas's with an intensity that made him feel sick. Newt looked devastated. His mouth formed a down-turned shape that Thomas had never seen before. Newt's fingers tightened, as though Thomas were keeping him from floating away.

"Nothing." he lied. "Scratched it on something last night."

Newt didn't look like he believed him, but he bit his lip as he looked at Thomas. His eyes told him he wanted to believe him, and Thomas thought he'd get away with it too until Alby had to ruin it.

"You attacked him."

His voice was loud and vicious and made Thomas jump. He barely had time to glare at the older boy before he'd snatched Thomas's arm from Newt's grip, harsh fingers tearing off the bandage Jeff had put on.

Even if you ignored the thick white gunk that the Med-Jack had coated the gouges in, it still looked really bad. His skin was an ugly collection of reds and purples and black, thick dark blood sluggish and painful looking. There was blue streaked in the purple of the bruising almost similar to the blue poisoned veins he'd seen on Newt the night before. Thomas winced at the movement, Alby's rough skin rubbing against the tender flesh. It all only took a heartbeat. He ripped his arm back with a gasp, but it was too late. The damage was done, and they all knew it.

He looked desperately at Newt, his mouth already open to deny it all but the sight of the blonde stopped him. Newt had stepped back, an expression of horror washing over his face as a hand came up to cover his mouth. He was staring at Thomas's wrist and even though Thomas had wound the bandage back round in a flash he still stared. Thomas felt his worry double. If Newt gave in now he'd never be able to fight Alby on it all by himself.

"Newt…"

The blonde turned away looking sick. He close his eyes, breathing deeply, harshly. Thomas reached for him.

"Newt please, it's okay."

His friend shrank from his touch and hung his head. It was breaking Thomas's heart to see.

"Really, Newt it's _fine_."

Newt didn't look up. When he spoke his voice was pained and whispery.

"Did i do that?"

Thomas swallowed, shooting a glance at Alby. He should have known better, because their leader wasn't going to help him.

"Yes."

Thomas grimaced at the finality in his voice, the demand hidden in that one little word. He shook his head, but he already felt himself losing.

" _No."_

Newt shook his head in one slow swing, looking up at Thomas from under his matter fringe of curls. Thomas wanted to look away but couldn't and he knew he wouldn't be able to lie if Newt asked him again. He pleaded that he wouldn't. What he said was much worse.

"You're a terrible liar, Tommy."

Thomas felt his airways constricting. His eyes burned and he looked away. He looked at Alby, let the anger the other boy triggered in him chase away the sorrow. He clenched his teeth.

"He's fine now. Whatever he may or not have done or been last night doesn't override the fact that he's back to himself now. He's _Newt_ again."

He'd hoped the name would register the same way with Alby it did for him. He'd thought that Alby wouldn't be able to throw away those three or more years of knowing Newt. Newt who was so alive and calming and hopeful, the voice of reason when everybody lost their cool. He couldn't believe Alby would throw him out over a single, simple fear.

He was wrong.

"Get something to eat and get back to the Pit." he jerked his head towards FryPan's station. "You leave at the Closing."

With that he marched away without so much as a backward glance. Thomas could only stare after him, angry and confused and feeling screwed over. This wasn't _fair_. It wasn't _right_. But when he looked to the blonde for his agreement his friend was already sitting down, defeated, at the table. Thomas's heart was beating painfully.

He sat down beside Newt, for now. He sat close, wanting Newt to see how little it mattered that he'd scratched when he hadn't been in his right mind. He wanted Newt to know that he was beside him and that he would stand by him. He wanted Newt to know how much he supported him and how far he'd go. He wanted Newt to know that there was someone there for him the way that he was always there for anyone who needed it. He wanted Newt to know that he was important. That he was _worth_ it. Thomas wanted Newt to know he loved him, broken strings and all.

FryPan brought them food. Two plates piled high with breakfast. His way of saying sorry. Thomas gave him a grateful look. Newt looked more upset. It was as though an act of kindness made him uncomfortable, and he kept his head down even as he picked at his food. Thomas sat with him long after he'd finished his own plate. He stayed for support, but also because of the tiny niggling fear that Newt needed him to exist between him and the others.


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas stuck close, like he had all day. His knees ached from a day spent on the hard-packed earth of the Pitside. But he'd take twice the discomfort and more. He'd sat with Newt, refusing to leave except to fetch them lunch at noon. Newt hadn't been hungry but Thomas had insisted he eat. He'd need his strength. Even thinking that made it all rush sickeningly towards them. The dread built steadily, becoming heavier and heavier as Thomas's desperation grew.

Yet Newt was defeated. It broke Thomas's heart to watch his sit in the dirt of the Pit like a caged animal, accepting his fate. Thomas wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and throw things and punch Alby until their Glade Leader took back his decree. Thomas was nowhere near coming to terms with the suffocating disgust in his stomach at the knowledge of what was about to happen. It had hung over their heads all day.

Now, as they approached the Doors and the semi-circle of Gladers gathered there, Thomas could feel the panic setting in. It bubbled like acid, spitting and burning his insides.

They reached the others and Thomas stepped up next to Chuck, who was watching them with devastated eyes. His young face ghostly white and sickly looking. Thomas put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder and squeezed hard. He didn't take his eyes off Newt, who was now standing alone before the rest of them like he was about to give a sermon. Thomas tried to focus on breathing. He could feel the real risk of hyperventilating close on his horizons.

This was to be their final goodbye. He felt ready to throw up. Newt looked so alone and vulnerable, trying so hard to seem okay. Thomas's heart sent a painful twang through his abdomen.

Nobody seemed ready to really say anything and Newt stepped forward shakily to begin the end of his time in the Glade.

Gally offered his hand and when Newt reached for it Gally yanked him into a brief hug, letting go with downcast eyes.

"I'm sorry." he choked out and Newt just nodded and bumped his shoulder with his fist.

"It's not your fault, Gally. Okay?"

Gally nodded and stepped back, but he didn't lift his eyes again. Thomas had never seen him like that. So not in control, so _weak_. He felt the weight of Newt's worth to the Glade and it kicked him hard in the stomach. He could feel his eyes welling up.

Minho was next in line and he too was trying to stay stoic. His eyes were gleaming with tears but his cheeks were dry and he even tried to force a smile, tugging Newt in for a hug that spoke volumes about their friendship. When Newt pulled back he took a deep breath. His voice was beginning to crack as he spoke.

"You find them a way out, you hear?"

Minho nodded and held Newt's gaze for a long moment before surprising everyone by turning tail and running off towards the trees. Thomas could understand the feeling. He didn't think he could survive seeing Newt cast out and yet he knew he couldn't leave because he owed Newt that much. Breathing continued to become increasingly difficult.

Alby shook Newt's hand, placing his other on top and holding on tightly. Newt met his eye and nodded.

"This is what you had to do, Alby. Don't you go bloody regrettin' keepin' 'em all safe, yeah?"

Alby nodded, his dark eyes filled with a depth of sorrow that simply couldn't translate into words. He let Newt go, stepping back beside Gally.

Chuck was already crying, silent tears painting his cheeks ruddy as he looked up at their second-in-command.

Newt swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he pulled the youngest Glader into a tight hug. He looked awful when he pulled away, ruffling a hand through the thick brown curls and trying his best to smile at him. Chuck's barely-held sobs bullied and beat at Thomas's heart and the tears that glittered in his eyes made Thomas feel sick. When Newt let him go Chuck simply slumped to the ground, burying his face in his hands as his small shoulders began to heave and shake in a silence that Thomas thought actually hurt more than to hear him cry.

And then it was his turn. He didn't think he could face it and yet how could he not?

Thomas's heart lurched at the broken way Newt looked at him. His best friend's eyes gleamed with unshed tears and even though his jaw was set Thomas could see the tremble that quivered on his lips. Newt's nostrils flared as he took a sharp breath in. He was in that moment so noble and so determined to hold it together for the sake of the others that Thomas felt his chest tighten, his ribcage crushing his heart. He blinked through his own tears, refusing to take his gaze from Newt even to wipe them away. He could feel the doom of the impending sentence crawling under his skin and squirming there, like a trapped snake.

He watched the setting sunlight glinting amber in Newt's eyes and Thomas was sure that even within the dark chamber of memories that were locked away, out of his reach, he'd never seen someone look so sad. He felt the hopelessness rise like a bad taste in his mouth, coating his tongue and seeping into all the tiny spaces between his teeth.

Newt reached for him and Thomas didn't hesitate. He pulled the blonde into a clumsy embrace, his arms tight against his smaller frame. Newt gripped him too, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt to create a feeling of fingerprints on his skin that Thomas didn't think would ever fade. His breath caught and he swallowed, trying not to let out the sob that was suffocating him. He couldn't in front of Newt. If the older boy was determined not to then Thomas refused to belittle the sacrifice in that stance.

As the light truly began to fade Thomas clung on tighter, expecting any second to hear the ominous death sentence that was the alarm. Newt's chin brushed his shoulder and when he spoke it took every drop of willpower Thomas had just to stay standing.

"Thank you, for being my friend."

The whispered words were barely there, strangled and pitching as Newt tried to hold back the tremors that were taking him over. Thomas closed his eyes as tears fell freely down his cheeks and he listened to what very well could be his friend's last words. The Glade was silent around them and Thomas could almost pretend, just for a second, that this wasn't happening.

"I'll miss you, Tommy. I already- already bloody _do_ and i haven't even- left-"

His voice choked off and Thomas felt Newt's arms tighten painfully and he couldn't hold back the sob.

"I'll miss you. _God_ , i'll miss you Newt, i wish- if there was something-"

"No. _No_ , don't think like that."

Newt sniffled and pulled back from their embrace leaving Thomas feeling cold and empty inside. He turned pleading eyes on the blonde as the other boy stepped away, one hand running over his face to try and recover his stoic stance.

The final rays of light struck him then in a last stream before dusk began to set in, and Newt was bathed in the bitter splendour of the dying light. He stood straight-backed with his hands clenched at his sides and his eyes set and the sunlight a blazing halo in his hair and Thomas doubted he had ever seen anything more fragile, or more beautiful.

And then the blare of the alarm slammed through the air, every fibre of his very being crying out against it and Thomas watched the strongest person he'd ever known walk into the Maze with a slight sway in his step the only indication he had a limp at all.

As the doors began to close, Thomas couldn't breathe. He could only stand there. And as he saw Newt turn to look back at them all, Thomas felt his heart tumbling into the abyss.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas watched the Doors moving and felt the horrid blaring alarm churning his blood. The soul-sickening crushing, grinding sound made him want to vomit. Newt stood on the other side of those fated Doors, his dark brown eyes locked on Thomas.

His face was deathly pale and frightened. His eyes bore into Thomas's as he felt his tears falling. In those dark eyes he could see the depth of his own devastation mirrored back.

Newt was looking at him like he'd never see him again, and that was all it took.

Thomas _moved_.

He threw himself through the Doors against the cries and FryPan's hand on his shoulder, running the rapidly bottlenecking space and tumbling out the other side, falling at Newt's feet as the giant Doors banged closed behind him. The whole world seemed to shake through the noise, and then the alarm was quiet and everything was still. He could hear the faint sound of voices from the other side, one he guessed was Alby taking charge but he shut them out. He wouldn't let himself regret what he'd done.

He looked up at Newt. The blonde was hyperventilating. He was so afraid of the Maze that he was shaking all over. His eyes were glazed and his pupils swallowed the brown of his irises. Getting to his feet Thomas reached out to touch his friend's shoulder, surprised when Newt jerked away.

"What've you _done_?"

He stepped back, wounded. Newt's wild eyes were angry. Thomas frowned and raised his hands up in defence.

"Whoa, what?"

Newt looked angrier than Thomas had ever seen him, even more than he had been when Thomas had run after Minho and Ben. He looked livid.

"You've just _killed_ yourself." he spat.

Thomas shook his head, standing firm as Newt stalked towards him.

"They shouldn't have done this, they shouldn't have kicked you out!"

"I'm going to change again!" Newt hollered back, every inch of his body vibrating with his anger. "You'll die now with me when the Grievers come! If i don't get you first-"

He seemed to shrink, his face a pained mask as he sank to the stone floor of the Maze. He buried his hands in his hair and turned his face down against his knees as he began to rock back and forth in a tight and frightened manner. Thomas approached him gingerly, getting down beside him.

"What if you don't?"

Newt groaned and shook his head but he didn't look up. Thomas touched his shoulder.

"What if you don't change back and they were wrong? Alby himself admitted that he doesn't know! This is all guessing, Newt. What if we could go back in the morning and tell them? Everything would be okay."

Newt looked at him with eyes heavy with the day's events. He was trying not to look at the walls enclosing them and Thomas knew it.

"The Grievers…" Newt whispered.

Thomas felt his blood chill, and he had to work to hide the shudder that rolled over him. He'd almost managed to forget the unknown monsters who stalked the Maze. He'd been too focused on Newt. He swallowed the sudden fear, expecting any second to hear the haunting moans that permeated his dreams every night. The monsters Chuck spoke so fearfully of in the dark. He felt the quiet pressing down on them. There were no animals in the Maze, no birdsong to be found. The place was desolate; a vast emptiness that held only himself and Newt and somewhere, the deadly Grievers.

"We'll just need to out-run them, find good hiding spots." he decided, sounding much more confident than he felt.

He got to his feet and offered his hand to the blonde, patiently waiting for Newt to gather himself together enough to accept. He tugged his best friend to his feet and despite the predicament they were in he smiled. Newt was here, with him. How bad could the world truly be?

As though reading his mind Newt looked at him, returning the smile.

"You're bloody shucking crazy, you know that Tommy?"

The nickname as always caught him in the gut, causing a not unpleasant tremor to ripple through his abdomen. He nodded. The blonde snorted, a breathy laugh that warmed Thomas right before the blonde threw himself into his arms and dragged him close for a tight hug. He closed his eyes, soaking in the feeling and trying to save it, knowing he'd need it later.

They would make it through this. They _had_ to.

Newt clung to him for a very long moment. A long moment that Thomas found almost blissful. It was so ridiculous with everything they were going to have to face over the hours that dragged between them and the morning light and yet Thomas couldn't bite back his grin. Newt made him feel terrific, even if he really didn't deserve it. It was almost torture to pull away.


	9. Chapter 9

"We'd better start moving. Don't wanna be sittin' waitin' for the buggers to come and get us."

Thomas nodded at his words, looking at Newt's dark expression and half-wondering whether his friend really would change again. He felt uneasy even thinking about it, almost as though it was a betrayal. But the thought niggled as he followed Newt into the Maze, his mind wandering as Newt made turns. The two boys had been walking for almost half an hour, no point in Running if they had all night to be out here.

The familiar keening moan wavered through the air from somewhere deeper in the Maze and Thomas froze. Dread swelled in his stomach, trickling and chilling him all the way to his toes. Newt paused up ahead, pressing against the wall. Thomas shallowed his breathing, staying quiet.

How close had it been? Three walls over? One?

Thomas closed his eyes, straining his ears. And then, with the thought of Grievers about to turn the corner in front of them, Thomas heard the sound that may actually be worse that the Griever moan.

The ragged, guttering sound sent his heartbeat racing, adrenaline buzzing in his veins. He was almost too afraid to open his eyes but he had to. He heard the sound of skin slapping stone and his eyes flew open.

Newt had dropped to one knee, one hand flat on the Maze floor in front of him, his head hanging down as his shoulders shook.

"Newt?" Thomas hissed worriedly, the dread pushing rationality from his brain. "Newt, man. Get up! The Grievers-"

He didn't finish. Newt's head flashed round so fast Thomas thought he'd get whiplash, and Newt's dark eyes glinted in the dim twilight. Thomas couldn't breath.

The blonde's face had darkened as though he'd been beaten, Thomas almost couldn't believe it had changed so quickly. Dark purple bruising stretched down from his cheekbones, sneaking under his collar. His eyes were black, and bloodshot, blown wide and almost unrecognisable. His thin red lips were drawn back in a curled snarl, and the red of the inside of his mouth gleamed like blood.

" _Oh Shit._ "

Thomas didn't even think about it. He didn't have to. He turned, and he _ran_.

His feet pounded the familiar stone floor of the Maze, his heart stuttering at the gruesome scream that erupted behind him. He couldn't believe the sound came from Newt. The boy didn't even like to _shout_ when the Gladers were in a riot, how could he- _Screaming_?

Thomas turned corner after corner, not entirely sure where he was or where he was headed, only thinking of two things.

 _No dead end. No Griever._

He could hear the unsteady, terrifying sound of Newt chasing him, his feet slapping the floor and his shoulders slamming into every turn as though he weren't fast enough to turn. His breathing was heavy and rattling and it sent frightened shivers racing up Thomas's spine. He turned left. He made a left, dodging a tangle of fallen ivy. He ran, made a left at the crossroads. His heart was pointing, his lungs beginning to ache. Thomas could run for much longer, but the fear shooting through his system was messing with his breathing. He tried to focus it, rhythm in his stride. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

 _Left._

 _Left._

 _Right._

 _Left._

 _Right._

 _NO!_

Thomas skated to a stop, almost sending himself flying by the sudden force of his stop. Before him, rising up between the walls on either side was a dead end. He spat a curse, spinning on his heel. If he was fast enough, he-

Oh, shucking shuck.

At the open end of the corridor, the only way out, stood Newt. Thomas groaned, his temper getting the better of him and he turned in a tight circle, punching the air as he spun round in a whole turn. He looked at Newt.

The blonde stood with hunched shoulders, his head tipped to one side as though listening. Even across the distance between them Thomas could see the madness in his eyes. He swallowed, fear and determination battling in his gut. He squared his shoulders as the blonde crept forward in a prowl, the hairs on the back of Thomas's neck standing so straight they made the skin tight.

Newt was almost upon him and Thomas was readying himself to dart past, when Newt anticipated him and cut him off, launching himself at Thomas.

The struggle was fierce, for all his bird-like lightness Newt tackled Thomas like it was very little effort, knocking him to the ground. Claw-like hands scrabbled at him, trying to get purchase as he squirmed. His chest, his arms. Thomas arched his face away, twisting and thrashing wildly as he attempted to know the older boy off.

The creature in Newt's body was snarling and screeching, terrifying bone-chilling sounds that would definitely give Grievers a run for their money. His teeth were bared and Thomas was drowned in the irrational fear that Newt wanted to bite him. He twisted, dislodging him enough with one hard shove that managed to snag a few seconds to escape, scrambling on his hands and knees across the floor, throwing himself to his feet.

Short-lived success because sharp fingers dug into his shoulder and whirled him around as though he were made of sticks instead of flesh and bone.

He gasped, dragging in a painful breath and he tried to yank himself from the other boy's grip but he simply couldn't. His back against the ivy-covered wall, harsh cracked stone tearing through his shirt and his skin, searing heat on his back. He cried out, and one rough shove against his chest slammed his head back against the stone.

The _crack!_ made him want to vomit as his head began to swim. The sharp fingers buried in his shoulder again, the pain so much that Thomas screamed out, a shout of pain that he vaguely thought was too loud. Much too loud.

Fingers ground his throat, Newt's skin was hot against his, unbearably so. Thomas felt it burning into his neck, and as they began to close he gasped. His hands grabbed at Newt's chest, pushing, shoving with all his might but he may as well have been trying to move one of the walls. He began to choke.

The sharp nail of Newt's thumb pressed against his pulse, the beat of heart pressing back as though begging to be released. He tried to swallow. True panic had set in, fierce and sharp in his gut.

"It- It's _Thomas!_ Newt it's" he broke off, a hacking cough winding him. His vision was beginning to waver at the edges and he fought hard against it. If he passed out now he'd die.

"It- _T-Tommy_!"

He could taste blood, he'd bitten his tongue. The iron salt taste was sweet and sickly. His eyes closed as a wave of light-headedness hit. He was ready to pass out.

"T-Tommy? What- _bloody-_ "

Thomas's knees struck the stone and he slumped forward, his lungs dragging in huge gulping breaths of night air. That had been far too close for comfort. He hacked, spitting globs of blood onto the dusty floor, his neck screaming in pain. He felt like he'd been swallowing dirt. He couldn't move, and he didn't try for the longest time.

When he finally tipped his head back to rest against the stone, Newt was watching him.

The blonde's wild eyes were massive, their mahogany depths brimming over with tears. There were traces of the Not-Newt in there too. Newt looked like he hadn't moved, staring at Thomas like he'd crawled out of a horror movie. Thomas looked at him, still feeling too weak to get up yet. He took in a long slow breath and released it in a continuous stream. Newt released a sob.

Thomas pushed to his feet, reaching out to for the wall to steady himself. His head spun a bit and he leaned heavily against the wall until it righted enough that he wouldn't fall over. He reached a hand out towards Newt, but his friend didn't move.

"Newt? It's okay man, it's fine."

Newt's lip trembled as he shook his head, sweat-dampened curls on his forehead reaching towards his eyes. Thomas groaned. He didn't have the energy to chase after Newt, and the blonde looked like he was going to bolt.

"Newt, Newt listen, this is important. It's nighttime and you're lucid. Think about that okay? It happened last night too, you remember? You were going crazy and then you _stopped_ man. You about it."

Newt's eyes never left his face. But his breathing began to settle, his eyes clearing completely. He blinked. Thomas felt relief soothe the burning in his lungs as Newt's eyes turned thoughtful, assessing. He looked calmer. Calmer was good.

Thomas's brain was racing, twisting the knowledge, looking for ways to access this surprising turn of events. What did it mean? For one, if Newt could learn to control the change then he wouldn't be a danger to the others, and they could go back.

A single detached thought floated in Thomas's mind, one he knew nobody would want to hear. But it persisted, settling down on the shelves of his mind like an owl on a gnarled tree-branch, hooting softly.

If they could work out how to control it, the Grievers became a little less of a barrier between the Gladers and the way out. Thomas laughed humourlessly. How on earth he was going to word that in a way that Alby would listen, he didn't know. But now wasn't the time for thinking about it. He looked at Newt.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a broken rasp. He swallowed as Newt flinched, guilt in those brown eyes as he looked away. Newt nodded. He kept his distance, and Thomas could feel the misery rolling from him. He pushed to his feet, stepping up beside his friend. He slipped a cautious arm around his shoulder, pressing their sides together.

"I'm sorry, Thomas."

Thomas almost laughed. The name sounded wrong on Newt's tongue, as if he were trying out a foreign language. Newt's eyes flashed up and looked at him, wounded.

"Sorry," Thomas shook his head a little. "It just sounds so weird when you say it like that."

At the blonde's confused look, Thomas shrugged, feeling foolish.

"Never mind. It's nothing." The haunting cry of a Griever called out. It sounded far away but both boys shuddered just the same. He looked around them. "We should get out of here before we get cornered."

Newt nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. As they walked out, side by side, Thomas fell back automatically to let Newt lead. He studied him as they wandered in silence. The blonde's pale skin was shattered with purpled and mottled bruising, some almost black. His eyes looked haunted, dark smudging around them giving him a dying, exhausted look. He was sweating as though he was burning up, and even though Thomas had run just as much he wasn't anywhere near as sweaty as his friend. Newt'f fingers dug into his palms, and Thomas could see scratches and new welts rising on the skin from where the blonde had thrown himself against the Maze walls.

"I can feel your buggin' stare."

Thomas started, smiling sheepishly back when Newt flashed him an unreadable look.

"Sorry. You still look like you're in- well," he looked down at his hands, wondering how to phrase what he was thinking. "Sorry. It's hard to explain. When you got Stung you looked all bruised and battered, like a zombie or something. And then when you woke up in the morning you looked normal, like all the bruising went away and you looked like you'd never been sick."

He looked at Newt. The other boy was focused on him, his eyes serious. Thomas looked away, forwards. There was nothing down any of the possible paths before them but ivy and rocks. Be thankful for small blessings, eh?

"Now you look like hell again, like you're sick, but you're alert. You know who you are just like you did last night before Gally showed up. It doesn't make sense, but maybe- I don't know." he trailed off and shrugged. Newt let out a humourless snort, and when Thomas looked at him the older boy had rolled his eyes skyward. He sighed.

"Trust you." he said, his voice wry and tired. Thomas frowned. Newt answered as though Thomas had questioned him out loud.

"Only you would find this interesting. You and that bloody curiosity you got." he looked down at Thomas and even though his words were almost derisive, his eyes were almost awed. "You're a weird one, Tommy."

For some reason Thomas was pleased by his friend's words. He flashed a grin, and Newt rolled his eyes. But his lips quirked up in that half-smile of his, and Thomas felt a little better.

Sure they were trapped in the Maze, but they were alive for now. What more, realistically, could he ask for?


	10. Chapter 10

Since Newt had come to they'd been creeping around the Maze for over an hour and the awful moaning sounds of Grievers were becoming more and more frequent. Try as he might Thomas could never decide how close the creatures sounded and as such he carried around the growing certainty that they were going to be found any minute. Newt seemed to know his way and led quietly, locked in his own thoughts. Thomas found himself without the energy to start a conversation like he normally would so he simply followed, wondering absently how Newt knew where he was going.

Had he been privy to the Maps and remembered what he'd seen? To Thomas's knowledge the older boy had never set foot in the Maze. At least not in the weeks Thomas had been in the Glade. Thomas had seen how afraid Newt was of it, and he couldn't imagine the willowy blonde out here on his own, by choice. He shivered.

He was starting to convince himself he could hear a faint clicking noise when Newt doubled over, his face twisting in pain. Thomas was on him in a second, propping him up. He ducked his head, looking at Newt's face as though for a sign of what was wrong. Newt released an agonised whine that guttered and tailed into a growl, his face scrunching as his body locked.

"Newt?" Thomas whispered, aware that they could be right round the corner from one of the Maze's monsters and not even know it. Newt shook his head and stumbled backwards. He shoved Thomas away roughly, clenching his fingers into his own arms and bucking backwards with a sharp cry.

" _T-Tom-_ " his voice cut off in a garbled snarl.

Thomas felt panic bolting up his spine, tingling in his fingers.

"What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong! What do i do?"

His voice was rising but he didn't notice. He was transfixed, watching with horror-filled eyes as Newt dropped. He writhed on the ground as though scrabbling away from something. Thomas rushed towards him, his brain frantically trying to work out what was happening.

As suddenly as it had started the convulsing stopped, and Newt stilled. Thomas reached out for his shoulder.

"Newt?"

The sudden movement of the other boy sent Thomas tripping over his own feet. He gaped as he watched Newt stand up with clawed hands, that horrid twisted snarl upon his lips again. With a defeat sense of expectation Thomas looked at his friend's face. Newt's eyes were wild again, his pupils blown wide with a heart-stopping madness. He groaned and prepared himself to run.

Of course that's when the first Griever of the night decided to whirr around the corner. Nobody alive knew what they looked like but Thomas was immediately certain that's what it was. It appeared at the opposite end of the path they were on and Thomas felt his will drain from him as he stared at the round creature.

Rolling towards them was a large bulbous mass with vicious-looking needles protruding from every inch of blubbery flesh.

 _Oh no shucking way_.

Thomas stepped back instinctively, momentarily forgetting Newt was behind him as he stared at the monster. It came to a stop, and quivered. Even though it had no face Thomas was sure it was looking right at him and he balked, forgetting how to breathe. The mass vibrated, thick globs of slime dripping from several of the spines.

And as though it weren't bad enough it began to shift, untucking, leaving the ball-shaped appearance behind as it unfolded into a much more vicious looking creature. The spikes retracted but in their place sprouted many lethal-looking metal arms that ended in nasty looking equipment ranging from one with a simple blade to a three-clawed grip that snapped open and closed and open.

Bile rose in Thomas's throat. He was suddenly very aware of his own mortality in a way he'd never felt before. The jelly-like mass shuddered before it began to move again in a slapping, dragging motion that pierced fear directly into Thomas's bloodstream. He stumbled as he backed away. The fear was so strong that he couldn't look away, not even to turn and run.

Sharp fingers dug into the flesh of his arm and Thomas screamed, yanking viciously and feeling the grip tear into his skin. The heat of blood welling up was so bizarre that Thomas felt an irrational urge to laugh. He was going to be eaten, or torn apart or _whatever_ by this creature and he was worrying about scratches on his arm.

He finally broke his frightened staring, throwing his head to the side to see Newt standing beside him. Only it wasn't Newt, it was the Not-Newt that stood there, his heavy growling breaths harmonising with the whirring-clicking-dragging sound of the Griever. Thomas's heart pounded hard and he tensed to run.

The Not-Newt lunged.

Thomas dove to the side, landing only a few feet from the approaching Griever, quickly scrambling to his feet. He could feel a shift in the air behind him and he glanced back to see the creature withdrawing the claw arm from where it had snapped shut, inches from his neck.

Thomas ran.

He scrambled past Newt, tripping and scraping his hands on the floor but he pushed up and somehow he didn't fall. He took off, tearing down the path and throwing his body in a quick right turn. He ran, the blood pounding in his ears still not loud enough to block out the screaming, snarling howls of Newt close behind him.

 _Man_ that boy was _fast!_

Thomas skidded around another corner, grabbing the wall to swing himself around again, throwing himself forward again in a sharp U, running down a parallel corridor. It didn't fool them though and all too soon Thomas could hear the scrabbling footsteps and the mechanical whirring of the rolling Griever.

He ran for well over an hour, hope that the Griever would tire dwindling in his chest.

He was getting tired, could feel himself slowing up. He made three or four more turns, forcing just a little more sprint in his speed, until he came up against the last thing he needed.

 _A dead end_.

Without pausing to stop he ran the whole length, reaching the end far quicker than he'd expected. He rushed the wall, his fingers flying over the stone beneath the ivy, scraping, pushing, looking for anything that could help. There had to be a way out, there _had_ to. He heard the sound of Newt's trainers all too soon and his panic spiked. He didn't look back, still holding out hope for a way out.

As he dragged his fingers through the ivy in a frustrated last ditch attempt his hand caught, and he tugged the ivy before he managed to loosen his grip.

It held.

Without even thinking about it Thomas yanked the ivy backwards, putting all his weight on it.

It held.

With a gasping breath and unable to believe his luck, Thomas threw his hand further up and pulled, planting his feet against the wall.

It held.

It was the fastest Thomas could ever remember climbing anything. His hands blurred, one over the other in a frantic rush as he dragged himself up inch by inch, the noise of his pursuers roaring in his ears. He was three feet up. Four. He kept going, not looking all the way up and not looking down. He forced his breathing in time, in, out, up, up, his feet finding footholds in cracks and crevices in the stones.

Newt screamed below him, a vicious howling screech that made his ears burn. He risked a glance.

Newt was twelve feet or so below him, his upturned face furious. Thomas stopped to rest, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath. The Griever came up behind Newt, unrolling again. Thomas's rising fear for his friend's safety was unfounded. The Griever didn't seem to want Newt. In fact it moved to the side, closer to the other wall. It almost looked like it was avoiding Newt. Thomas watched them both. Newt scrambled at the wall but he didn't seem to be able to grasp the ivy in his current state. Thomas decided the Griever was the bigger threat, and he watched as it whirred in place, almost as though it was thinking.

Could Grievers climb? The mass quivered at the base of the wall like disgusting, foul jelly. Then it retracted several of it's arms, pressing against the wall Thomas had climbed. With an all-consuming dread, Thomas watched the creature rise an inch or so, and then half a foot.

Well. It seemed they could.

Thomas grabbed the ivy next to him and pulled hard.

It held.

Without thought he set to work, wrapping the new ivy-rope around his wrist as he readied his feet. He jumped from one to the other, suspended in one long second of utter belief that it would fail him.

It held.

Thomas released a large breath, dragging in another as he proceeded to yank on the next grasp of ivy. Like a monkey, Thomas moved through the ivy surprisingly easily, his feet finding footholds without trouble. He had crossed several feet before he looked back. The Griever was three feet up and rising steadily. He reached the corner where the walls met and grinned like a lunatic. He was doing it. He was getting away.

He swung his leg over for purchase on the other wall, dragging himself over in a swing, covering two foot in one bound. His arms were tired and his shoulders were burning but he didn't have the luxury of stopping. He continued, and began to angle himself, dropping down a half foot with each jump, aiming for the ground. The Griever was stuck just at the corner, and Thomas could hear ivy tearing as the monster shifted. It fell two foot, maybe three, before it caught and began to rise again. It was faster now, as though it was learning. Thomas suppressed a shudder at the thought.

When he was four feet from the floor he let go, dropping into a roll and finding his feet as fast as possible. He took off, despite the protesting screams of his limbs. He hadn't gotten far before Newt was behind him, his exhaustion meaning the older boy was gaining, and fast.

Thomas felt buoyant though. He'd evaded a Griever, and the feeling was incredible. The freedom lifted a weight from his ribs and he gasped in gulping breaths, forcing himself to keep going. It had been hours since they'd first entered the Maze, almost two since the Griever had appeared. Thomas looked up but it wasn't any help, the tall walls of the Maze blocking any view of the sky that would help him guess the time. It couldn't be too much longer. It _couldn't_.

Thomas took a right and almost ran right into the Griever that was waiting on the other side.


	11. Chapter 11

_Oh come on._

How bad could his luck really be? Thomas felt his heart drop. His trainers skidded on the Maze floor as he put everything he had into stopping. The Griever was facing the other way and it turned as Thomas neared. It released a blood-curdling groan as it began to move towards him and Thomas turned to run.

Only Newt appeared right then, trapping him between the older boy and the dreaded Maze monster. Thomas caught his breath, looking between the two as his lungs fought for air. This was just great. _Shucking perfect_. The Griever whirred, and Thomas found himself moving closer to Newt. Newt wasn't moving. Instead he was standing, his chest heaving with those horrid gurgled raping breaths.

He was cast in a half-shadow from the wall, his hair wild and unkempt and his arms out at his sides. Thomas had an odd thought that he looked like was about to shout _draw!_ and shook his head to clear it. Now was _really_ not the time for abstract forgotten memories. He glanced back at the Griever, surprised that it had stopped.

He was less than two feet from Newt, knowing that if the blonde lunged he wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting away in time. The Griever let out a mechanical squeal behind him. Thomas felt sick at the grinding sound that follow, it was wet and brought up unpleasant imaginings of bloody flesh catching between oiled gears. He risked a glance, fighting the urge to step closer to Newt at the sight.

The Griever was just _sitting_ there, the glinting metal arms rotating and retracting as though they were many mechanical noses scenting the air. A portion of the dread weighing Thomas down began to waver into curiosity and he simply stared, a surreal feeling settling on his shoulders.

There was almost a whole moment of almost silence in which Thomas fought the confusion clouding his head in search for a reasonable answer. Neither threat to his safety moved, beyond Newt's breathing and the Griever's waving arms.

And then there was a groan, a slapping-clicking-whirring, and the sound of an engine appeared behind the two Gladers. Thomas closed his eyes, feeling defeated as he turned to look.

Another Griever, Thomas was sure it must be the one from before, was approaching.

Fan- _fucking_ -tastic.

 _Why not?_ Thomas thought. _Join the buggin' party_. Using his friends odd curse made him feel a little braver. The urge to laugh rose within him but he fought to suppress it. He knew if he started the bizarre situation would get the better of him and he just wouldn't stop. He began to feel just a little bit insane. He tensed, preparing himself to… To what? Run? He was surrounded, where would he run? The manic urge to laugh doubled.

But the other Griever stopped several feet away, and besides the same rotating, waving arms, it stayed still. Thomas looked from one to the other, curiosity taking a definite hold. What the hell was going on here? He looked to Newt as though for answers, surprised to find the unsettling black eyes burning in his direction.

He swallowed. He wanted to say something, see if he could get Newt to switch back on but he was too afraid of what the noise would do. Questions swam in his head. Would it unfreeze the Grievers? Would it cause Newt to attack him again? Would it bring other Grievers running?

But, shouting louder than the others, _Was it worth the risk?_

Thomas blinked back at Newt, his gaze tracing the painful-looking scratches the blonde had collected over the course of the night, the sight of dark black blood that was drying on one leg of his tan trousers. He felt his own wounds throbbing, his shoulders burning from the energetic climbing and his legs screaming from hours and hours of Running.

Thomas took a breath.


	12. Chapter 12

The heavy cranking sounds started up and the great Doors began to open, a handful of anxious faces peering into the shadows as the dawn began to fully break. Chuck stood right at the forefront, his curls wilder and messier than usual, decorated with a scattering of leaves and tiny twigs. His face was flushed and streaked with mud and his eyes were ringed in a raw red. He bounced on his toes as the Doors slid open. They moved so painfully slowly when last night they had seemed so fast, crushing in on Thomas.

Minho stood behind Chuck. His face was his practiced stoic blank expression but his fingers dug into the younger boy's shoulders and for those who looked closely enough it would seem the smaller of the two was the one keeping them both standing.

The initial depth of the Doors got wide enough apart that the Gladers could see the sections behind that were opening too. Soon a thin dark strip became visible, growing inch by inch as the few collected Gladers held their breaths.

The dark strip became a dark opening, which in turn became a shadowed corridor that widened as though with every beat of a mechanical heart. The gears churned and creaked and the light finally began to fall across the entrance, silhouetting the boy who stood there.

Chuck looked up to Minho with terrified, determined eyes, asking for permission. Minho looked down at him and nodded and the pair took off at the same time, running across the distance to the stone of the Doors and reaching into the corridor as it widened to display the figure for the Gladers to see.

Newt swayed on his feet, his eyes closing as Minho reached for him. He fell into asian boy's grip without a sound, succumbing to the exhaustion washing through him. Chuck dropped to the ground to check over the heap at the blonde's feet, turning him over to reveal Thomas's face, scored and bloody with a dark curved gash reaching from behind one ear to the crease between his eyes. He looked up at Minho with terrified eyes.

"Come on!" Minho ordered gruffly, heaving Newt up and over one shoulder. Chuck turned to the others who were gathered around the Doors. Even as they watched, Gally and Alby were striding down from the Homestead. Chuck set his face in determination, his eyes landing on FryPan, who was closest to the Doors.

"Well? Get your shuck ass over here and get him inside!"

The older boy did just that. Between FryPan, Jeff and Chuck they hauled Thomas up and into the Glade, heading for the Homestead. Ben led the way. Minho followed behind.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

Thomas opened his eyes and immediately closed them again, a rolling wave of nausea forcing him to his right side, retching. The sound of bile hitting the wooden floor only made him shudder, and retch again. There was a low, keening sound buzzing in the air and although he hadn't opened his eyes again, Thomas could tell it was coming from his left. He lay back on the bed with a moan, every part of his body burning with one pain or another. He felt painfully disorientated and anxious, his head feeling hazy when he tried to remember where he was, what had happened.

He lay for a moment taking stock of his injuries. His leg was screaming in that melodramatic way that made him almost positive he had only scraped his knee. The fingers of his right hand felt thick and heavy. His stomach was cramping but that was probably from the pain that was pulsing down the left side of his face, everything from his scalp down a mass of needling heat and pain. With nervous fingers he touched the his face, running his fingertips gingerly over the cloth that was wrapped firmly around his head. Probably a bandage.

With a careful breath he tried opening his eyes again.

The light in the room was nauseating but Thomas managed to hold the feeling down, trying not to scrunch his eyes too much because it only made his head hurt more.

The sight of the slanted wooden ceiling made the anxious gnawing dissipate considerably. _The Homestead_ jumped to mind, even though he wasn't sure he could really remember what that was, exactly. As his eyes - and the throbbing in his head - adjusted to the light he relaxed, opening his eyes wider. The sound to his left had changed and, as slowly as he possibly could, Thomas turned his face towards it.

By the time he had done so he felt like he'd run a mile, sweat soaking his hairline and bile rising in his throat again. But what he saw caught his attention. There was a narrow cot bed against the wall, identical to the one he was lying on. Atop it there was a huddled mass, a figure in the foetal position under the grey blanket. What had originally looked like a pale yellow splash of colour on the pillow was in actual fact a mop of blonde hair, irregular sun-coloured curls splayed across the dreariness of the bed.

 _Newt_.

And that's when it all came flooding back in an incoherent jumble. The Maze, the Gladers, the lanky second in command who owned the sunny lop-sided smile. Alby, and a Banishing. The Grievers, Runners, Minho and his pack. Newt's awful, guttural screaming. _The night in the Maze_.

It was too much all at once and Thomas did retch then, his stomach empty but the action burning his raw throat all the same. He knew the sound now, and it was awful. It was the harsh, growling breathing of the not-Newt. But the room was filled with sunshine and Newt shouldn't be crazed. Daytime was sane time.

"Newt-" he croaked out, his voice cracking. He felt suddenly as thirsty as though he hadn't drank in days. He really needed some water. "Newt?"

The sound stopped and the bundle on the bed began to move. Newt's hands appeared around the blanket, his face. His hair was distressed but looked recently cleaned, and his face was pale and sickly-looking. The brown of his eyes was sleep-blurred and mournful as he looked over, but when he saw Thomas his whole face lit up and he threw back the covers.

"Tommy!"

Newt was by his bedside in an instant, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up.

"Newt-"

"Nuh uhh, Greenie. You keep your shuck head on that pillow, ya hear?"

Thomas wanted to argue, but he didn't have the energy. He was weakened by the relief coursing through him. Newt was okay. He didn't really know how, but they'd made it. Newt was smiling at him gently, fondly, the touch of one hand soft as he brushed Thomas's damp fringe back from his eyes. He could feel the touch long after it was gone, a pleasant tingle on his skin.

"I dunno what to make of you, Tommy. You ain't like anythin' i've ever seen."

Thomas grinned despite the almost reprimanding tone and Newt rolled his eyes, but he was biting back a grin too.

"How long have i been out? My head's killing me."

"Two days, just about." Newt replied, running his fingertips lightly down Thomas's face, tracing the edge of the bandage there.

Thomas didn't question the touch, afraid that if he did Newt would realise what he was doing and stop. The blonde's face darkened, but his smile stayed on his face.

"They threw me in the Pit both nights. Minho kicked up merry hell when Alby tried to- well. You can guess."

His smile widened despite his words, a surprised and lovely expression, Thomas thought.

"FryPan and Zart, Winston and Jeff and Chuck were all vocal about it too. Seems you've had quite an influence around here already, Tommy. Gladers are already learnin' your blatant disregard for the Rules."

Thomas felt his face burn, and despite the light and teasing edge to Newt's voice he felt guilty and chastised.

"I'm sorry." he said.

Newt nodded, his head cocking to one side as his fingers retraced their steps along Thomas's skin. Thomas tried hard to ignore the bloom of affection seeding in his heart, simply enjoying the contact while he could.

"I'll go get the others. Minho's been worried about ya, even though he won't admit it. And you know Chuck." Newt's eyes softened. "He's been beside himself. Can't work, won't eat. He waited the whole night we were out there, you know. He's terrified of the dark beyond the hammocks but he waited in it at the Doors all night. He knew you'd make it."

Thomas was surprised to feel the warm wetness of tears pooling in his eyes, and raised a hand to scrub at them. Newt didn't say anything, but as he was leaving he grabbed Thomas's hand and squeezed, hard. When he was gone Thomas closed his eyes again, feeling exhausted even though he'd only had a conversation. The burning in his throat was distracting as all hell, and he could've kicked himself for forgetting to ask Newt if he could bring some.

Despite only just waking up Thomas could feel the pull of unconsciousness dragging him into a light doze.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

There was movement in the room. Footsteps. The bed dipped at the side as someone sat down. Someone took his hand clumsily, squeezed it. Thomas struggled to lift the fog of sleep.

"Newt…" he mumbled, lifting his heavy eyelids again.

"Right here, Tommy." came Newt's soft reply from close beside him.

"Thomas! I _knew_ you'd make it! I told them you would!"

The second voice was excitable and strained, and Thomas looked over to see Chuck clutching his hand with the biggest grin on his face. Despite himself Thomas felt instantly better, the throbbing pains seeming to lessen in the face of Chuck's sunny excitement. He smiled back, finally blinking awake.

"Heyyy, Chuck."

He struggled to sit, and although Newt grumbled from his perch on the bed he helped Thomas up, propping his pillow behind him. Thomas lifted his arms, his fingers curling to motion Chuck forward. The kid jumped forward, burying his face in Thomas's shoulder as the older boy pulled him into a bear hug.

"I _told_ them. I knew you'd come back."

Thomas laughed, squeezing the youngest Glader as he sniffled against him.

"You knew better than i did, man." he chuckled.

Chuck drew back with a laugh of his own, his eyes shining but his grin splitting his face. He looked like he might reply before someone cleared their throat impatiently. With his face darkening tho a ruddy pink, Chuck stepped back, shooting Alby a chastised look. The dark-skinned boy stood directly in front of Thomas, at the foot of his bed. Gally stood behind and to one side of him, his usual sneer missing from his face but his eyes dark. Minho was standing over by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his weight on one foot. His lips twitched at Thomas when he met his eye, but it didn't last long. Thomas knew whatever was coming didn't sit well with him.

All eyes turned to Alby. Thomas's heart hurt when he saw Chuck brushing at his eyes when he thought they weren't looking. He turned his gaze to their Glade Leader, trying to keep the sneer from his lips. Alby looked at him impassively.

"We would normally have a Gathering for this, but under the circumstances we've decided already. What you did was reckless and stupid."

"Alby-"

He held a hand up against Minho's interruption, flicking him a dark and reprimanding look. Newt made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, surprising Thomas before he remembered that it probably didn't matter if Newt was respectful any more considering that Alby hadn't even looked at him properly the last time they'd all spoken. Alby didn't acknowledge the noise, confirming Thomas's suspicions.

"It went against everything this Glade stands for. We've had nothing but trouble since you came up here. You refuse to conform to Glader life and that puts us in danger. We've been here for three years. Three years we've managed to live in relative harmony, and in three weeks you've overturned that. This can't be ignored. If you plan to continue like this then i have no choice, Thomas."

Newt tensed beside him, his fingers curling in the blanket. Out of the corner of his eye Thomas could see Minho straightening, his face darkening. Gally looked troubled but folded his arms, his knowing gaze telling Thomas that he fully supported whatever Alby was going to say. Thomas resented that the boy had clearly had a say, that he was even in the room at all when from the very beginning he had been so clearly biased against him for no reason.

"Unless you turn around _now_ and prove that you will be capable of following Glader Law like everybody else, you'll be put out at the Banishment tonight. This will be your only chance. Think about it. Don't waste it."

The room was tense and silent. Nobody moved, not even to breathe it seemed. Thomas realised that Alby was waiting for him to speak. Waiting for him to agree, bow his head and say he'd been wrong to question him. Without taking his eyes from him Thomas checked on Newt, on Minho. They were staring at him too, waiting. Chuck was fidgeting, toying with the hem of his shirt, clearly worried. Alby was impatient for his answer.

"What Banishment?" he asked instead.

In that moment he knew he'd blown his chance, and he knew Alby knew it too. The older boy sighed, and although his eyes didn't even move Thomas _felt_ his gaze move to Newt. Minho shifted his weight to his other foot, scrubbed a hand down his face. Gally looked like he wasn't surprised. In the end it was Minho who spoke up with hard eyes, his words carrying an uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Newt's."

Thomas wanted to give up, for just a second. To close his eyes and lie back down and just go to sleep. That's all. But it was gone as soon as he thought it. Newt was a warm and living presence beside him and that was all he really needed to know.

"No."

There were a thousand words he could say, hundreds that he really wanted to. He could scream, throw a tantrum, shout and yell. He probably had enough energy to take a good swing or two at Alby before he was subdued. He could cry. He could plead. He could accept it and move on. Thomas did none of those things. Instead he simply levelled a challenging gaze right at Alby. Their Leader's eyes were furious even though his face was straight.

"You're going to throw your life away just like that? Do you seriously believe you'll survive another night out there? Look at yourself, Thomas! You barely made it last time. It's taken you two days just to wake up. You think you'll stand a chance in the state you're in now?"

Thomas broke his gaze at last, looking at the blonde beside him. Newt wasn't looking at anybody, his head down and his eyes fixed on his hands where they were twisting in the blanket. He looked at Chuck, the boy's wide eyes damp and frightened. He looked to Minho, taking in the asian boy's thoughtful expression, seeing his brain working behind his eyes. He looked at Gally, the expression hiding in the boy's eyes new and unknown. And then he looked back at Alby and he shrugged, speaking a lot more confidently that he felt.

"Maybe i will. Maybe i'll come back tomorrow morning, and the morning after. Maybe i'll run around all night and find a way out. Maybe i'll get eaten by the Grievers. Who knows?"

He couldn't stop the disgusted curl of his lip, the way his eyes glinted with contempt for the Glade Leader.

"But i'd rather die out there than stand by watching you throw Gladers out into the Maze for no good reason. You're so hung up on the belief that you've been doing good by Banishing the Stung that you won't consider the possibility that you've been wrong. You won't _entertain_ the idea that Newt can control himself if you give him the chance. He could've killed me out there but he _didn't_ , because he knew who he was and he knew who i was. He's one of you. He's a Glader just like any of you, and when he needed your help you threw him out to get killed by monsters. You're not any better than the people who put us here, and i don't want any part in that."

He took a breath, the boys in the room quiet as his words hung in the air. He couldn't help adding one more thing, poking at Alby one last time.

"So fine, throw me in the Maze. If he's going then so am i. I'd rather try my luck out there than live in a place where you won't consider changing your mind when the evidence is _right in front of your nose_."

Alby was openly furious then, his hands clenched into hard fists at his side. He looked like he might swing at Thomas and Thomas found that he almost wanted him to. If Alby hit him he'd hit him back and he didn't think he would stop until they dragged him off.

"That's your final decision, is it? You're to get yourself killed in the Maze?"

Thomas didn't reply, his look was answer enough. Alby snorted, crossed his arms. He looked like he might have said something else but right then Gally spoke.

"Why?"

Thomas was surprised. Surprised that Gally had spoken to him at all, surprised the boy's tone was devoid of his usual contempt for Thomas. Surprised by the question itself. He frowned in confusion as he looked back at him. Gally's eyes were serious, troubled and curious. It was strange.

"I told you why. If Gladers throw their own in the Maze because of something they don't understand, without even _trying_ , then… I don't want to be a Glader. He's my friend. He's _our_ friend. Your second in command. Surely that means something?"

Thomas wasn't sure who he was asking, himself or the others. Instead he looked at Newt, and Newt must have felt his gaze because he lifted his head to look back at him. Thomas could see that Newt wasn't happy with him, just like he hadn't been happy when Thomas had run into the Maze after him. But he was defeated, he was just going to accept his fate and Thomas's chest hurt at the way Newt was just going to lie down and take it. It made him want to fight back in his stead, just like it had that first time. He would fight for Newt because he wouldn't fight for himself, and because he somehow knew without a doubt that Newt would have fought for him if their roles were reversed. For any of the others. It had nothing to do with the affection his heart held for the lanky blonde and his shuck accent and his ridiculously warm brown eyes. He looked back at Gally's serious eyes.

"If Newt goes out then so do i." he repeated quietly with a shrug, letting his eyes drop to his lap.

He was exhausted, worn out already by the conversation and the looming of the Closing. The throbbing pain on his forehead was giving him a headache inside his head too, and he almost laughed at the hopelessness of it all. It seemed he was doomed to never rest properly again, not that he believed he'd live very long at all.

"Shuck it. That goes for me too, Alby."


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

Every eye in the room turned to Gally in shock.

Thomas was sure he must still be asleep, hallucinating from the pain his head was wrapped in. Gally was looking at him with that strange look in his eyes again and when Alby stepped back from him to face him properly Gally just shrugged, looking at Newt and Minho and then back at Thomas. He ignored Alby's spluttering. Thomas blinked, wondering what on earth had gotten into the aggressive older boy.

"What?"

Alby's accusing tone was layered in confusion. His authoritative tone had slipped and they all knew it. There was a pause that weighed heavy on them all.

"He told me. When i found him next to the Pit the night Newt got Stung he told me but i didn't want to listen."

Thomas had never heard Gally speak with such a level tone. The broad-shouldered older boy always sniped and snarled when he spoke to Thomas, his eyebrows a sharp and nasty expression on his face.

"He broke the Rules, and we need to Punish him, but the whole point of the Glade is supposed to be that we keep each other safe."

Alby looked at Gally with barely controlled anger burning in his eyes. His fists were clenched at either side but if Gally noticed he didn't react, standing there as cool as could be, his voice level and even.

"That's what i was _doing_. Getting Stung makes you a danger. To yourself and everybody else. That's why we Banish them. That's what keeps us safe." Alby spat at him.

Gally lowered his eyes.

"You were thinking about us all, i won't deny that. But Thomas was the only one thinking about Newt's safety, and that don't sit right with me, Alby. We're all supposed to look out for _everybody_ else. Not sacrifice one to save us all. That's just not how we should be handling things. I didn't know it when we did the Banishing but i know it now, Alby."

He raised his eyes to Alby, almost pleading with him, messing with Thomas's perception of reality something rotten. Alby just kept getting angrier. He had obviously never imagined that Gally wouldn't follow his every word, agree with him like he always did. Thomas could see the anger building on Alby's face as Gally spoke, unease hot and heavy in his stomach. He turned and reached out his hand to catch Chuck's wrist. When Chuck turned his frightened hazel eyes on him Thomas nodded to the door. For a second he thought the younger boy wouldn't do it but then he shot Thomas a wounded look and left his side. The others didn't seem to notice as Chuck slipped along the wall and out of the door. Minho stepped aside to let him but didn't look at him.

"They survived out there, man. Yes, Thomas broke the Number One Rule. He isn't a Runner and he ran out into the Maze, and at _night_ too. Yes, he needs punished. I have no doubt at all he does. I _still_ can't stand his shuck ass. But shucking _hell_ , Alby. They survived a whole night out there. Don't you think that warrants a discussion at least? We need a Gathering, we need to ask the others. This could mean a way out, we can't just-"

"A way out?" Alby shouted, his voice rising and furious. "What kind of shuck-face talk is that? How is an out-of-control Glader a way out? Have you lost your shuck-ass mind? We need to get rid of him, keep the others safe. I thought you of all people would get that, _Gally_."

Gally flinched, taking a step back from the raging Glade Leader. Alby voice was practically screaming, angrier than Thomas had ever heard him. Gally seemed to have decided something and when he met Alby's gaze again his shoulders were set, his face clear and his eyes hard. The respect was thinning in his voice as he replied.

"If we don't adapt to change we'll be stuck in this _fucking_ Glade forever. What if Thomas was actually right for once? What if we _were_ wrong before? You saw them at those Doors. Newt was standing there waiting for them to open. If he was out of control, wouldn't he have killed him? Wouldn't he have gone crazy and just slaughtered him right away? We need to know what happened. The other Keepers need to hear how they did it. If we could survive out there…" he trailed off with a shrug, looking like he'd said all he needed to.

"Don't you think we should at least _ask_?"

Alby was seething, and Thomas could feel Newt shifting closer to him. The blonde was incredibly tense, clearly as worried as Thomas was. Their fate was being decided right there in that room and he felt sick with the horror of that fact. Alby spat at Gally's feet, turning his eyes to Minho. The Runner had been quiet through everything so far, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face.

"Minho? What do you think of this nonsense?"

For a very long moment Minho didn't reply. He just looked at them all with his unreadable dark eyes. And then he sighed, as if he had run out of patience, sick of their discussion. He uncrossed his arms and strode very deliberately over to the bed. He stood where Chuck had, putting Thomas between himself and Newt. When he turned to meet Alby's gaze he crossed his arms again.

"I doubt you really need to ask." In the uneasy silence that settled over them he tipped his head towards the two boys sitting on the bed. "They go, i go. For the record i think you're shuck-ass stupid to be throwing them out again."

Alby lost his temper then. He pointed one hand furiously at the asian boy, striding forward two angry steps. He was truly screaming when he answered Minho, spittle flying from his lips as his eyes bulged in his head. Thomas was certain he was going to hit somebody, he just wasn't sure who it would be.

"You watch your mouth Minho! The way you talk to me has never been respectful! If you think for _one_ minute that your little display is going to change my mind then you're in for a shock!"

He glared at them all angrily.

"You're all in for a shock! Don't think when tonight comes you can change your mind to get out of it! When those Doors close tonight you can bet your ass you'll all be out there!"

He spun suddenly, storming to the door and throwing it open so hard it bounced against the wall and slammed right behind him. Thomas let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and leaned back against the wall, looking at Newt and then Minho before his eyes settled on Gally. The older boy met his eye evenly, his expression surprisingly blank. Before Thomas could say anything, question or thank him Gally spoke lowly.

"For the record i still don't like you, and i never will. But Alby's lost it. He's too stubborn to see what's going on here and he's just shutting it all down as if it'll help."

Minho sighed, dragging over the wooden chair that was in the corner. He plopped himself into it, leaning forwards with his hands on both knees. He looked at Thomas intently, and Thomas looked back.

"Thanks, Minho." he said quietly, feeling like he needed to.

Minho pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Don't thank me. I'm not doing this because i like you. I'm doing it because Alby is bat-shit crazy and we need to get the others to see it. If you get me killed i'll haunt your shuck ass forever."

He smirked then, a small curl in the corner of his mouth, and Thomas almost smiled back.

"So what do we do?"

Thomas looked at Gally when he spoke, and realised he had no idea. He looked at Minho and Minho sighed again, sounding exasperated and put out.

"We call a Gathering. We get everyone together and you two tell your story, make it sound like what you're saying is true. If we convince them all that Newt isn't going to go a killing spree and slaughter us all then they might just overturn what Alby's saying. But it'll be hard. Alby's been Glade Leader since he got here, he's been here the longest and everybody has always followed him." he paused, and looked over at the silent and unhappy blonde beside Thomas.

"The only person they might respect more than him is Newt. We need to use that to our advantage."


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter Sixteen_

It didn't take long for Alby to notice. When he did, he was furious. He stormed across the Glade to the Gathering, leaving frightened Gladers in his wake. He threw the door open with a bang and even though most of the occupants of the room jumped at the intrusion nobody looked all that surprised.

"What the shucking hell is going on?" he growled, his dark gaze instantly seeking out the four Gladers standing before the rest of the Keepers.

"We called a Gathering. As Keepers elected by the Glade we've got the right to." Minho answered him, smooth and devoid of respect, just as he always was.

Alby bristled.

"You won't be Keepers once your shuck-asses are on the other side of the fucking Doors."

A rash of whispering skittered across the seated Keepers and Alby seemed to realise he had an audience. Thomas watched him glance around, looking faintly unsure for the first time Thomas might have ever seen.

"Take a seat," Minho responded, his voice level but his eyes intense, "You're gonna want to hear what's coming."

Thomas thought that he was going to refuse. Alby looked like he was barely holding his anger in check, his face twisted in a fierce scowl as he glared at them all. But Minho's face was stony and commanding and Thomas watched in faint awe as Alby acquiesced, sitting in an empty chair at the back with such force that Thomas thought he might be actively trying to break it.

The room was silent, everybody looking anxiously between Minho and their Glade Leader as the two older boys glared at each other. Newt had his head down, and even when Thomas tried to catch his eye the blonde remained fixated on the floor. Thomas was unsettled and angry that his friend was so despondent, so readily accepting of Alby's clear dismissal.

Thomas wanted to sit him down and quite firmly deny it. He wanted to remind Newt of who he was, of _what_ he was to so many of the Gladers. He was their second in command, their other leader. He was the boy who shot them his easy grin when they were feeling like they'd never escape the Maze they'd been placed in. Newt was their hope, so seeing him looking so hopeless over his own fate was just plain wrong.

What Minho had said was true enough. Newt was the only one in the Glade that people might side with over Alby. He was the only one that stood a chance at gaining the loyalty of the Gladers in an out-right stance against their Leader. In the out-right stance they were in the process of making. He kept his eyes on Alby as Minho snorted in disgust, shifting beside him.

"Alright shanks, listen up. We're about to have a right nice session of story time. Newt and our Greenie here are gonna tell us just what the shuck went on behind those walls two nights ago. I'm not in the mood for being in here for hours, so you all shut your traps and listen. Keep your questions for after."

He held up a hand against the grumbling, Alby's voice loud and distinct but going unacknowledged. Minho looked over at Thomas.

"Thomas?"

The brunette swallowed, glancing at the silent blonde beside him as though for support, or permission. Newt finally looked up, his amber eyes meeting Thomas's and taking his breath away in that way he had a habit of doing.

"Go ahead, Tommy. Tell 'em."

Thomas turned to look at the gathered Keepers, looking them in the eye one by one. When he got to Alby he had to fight a sneer, throwing as much of his dislike for the boy into his gaze as possible.

"Well you all saw me run in." he started, wondering just how he was going to explain their night and trying to remember the order each thing happened in.

He swallowed again, hoping Newt was feeling up to taking over when Thomas's memory went fuzzy, when it went blank. He remembered enough to know that he'd been unconscious when the Doors had opened, that they'd had to carry him into the Homestead. And _that_ meant Newt had to have been with him while he was out, during the waning hours of nighttime without killing him.

And that meant something. That meant _everything_. It was their leg to stand on against Alby's arguments, against his tyranny and against his intentions to banish Newt. Or the rest of them.

"Shuck stupid, if you ask me." someone grumbled, quickly backed up by another voice and a loud snort from Alby.

Minho stepped forward again, his face irritated more than angry, his voice cold and annoyed.

"Keep it down till he's finished. I don't want to hang around in here with you shuck-faces all day. You all smell worse than Gally's feet."

The grumbling was quiet, but it went away. Minho ignored Gally's denial and nodded to Thomas, staying where he was beside him and keeping his eyes on their audience, his thick arms crossed over his chest. Well, Thomas thought as he threw himself into his recollection just as he'd thrown himself through the Doors, _here goes nothing_.

He tried not to watch the expressions of the Keepers in front of him. He kept his eyes away from Alby and instead picked a spot on the wall behind the gathered Gladers. Still he could see the disbelief warring suspicion and fear as he described the Grievers, as he told them all how the vile creatures moved. He detailed Newt's changing, fighting the urge to shoot the boy an apologetic look.

He might not be able to see Newt from the angle his own head was tipped at, but he could feel him there, sense his presence just as surely as though the blonde were muttering under his breath beside Thomas in the gardens, or laughing over something at dinner. He knew his friend was there, just as he knew they could beat this, could win against the changes if they could get some time to master it.

He spent more time on the change than on anything else, sure to make them all aware that no matter how the feverish illness seemed to grip Newt the blonde could fight it to come back. He told them everything, from falling at Newt's feet as those stone doors closed behind him to waking up in the Homestead.

"Newt could tell you more about the dawn." he finally said, meeting the frightened and awed gazed pointed his way. "I don't remember anything much after the Grievers attacked us but we must have gotten away somehow." He gave in and allowed himself to glance at the boy in question and felt that familiar stomach lurching sensation as his heart gave an extra hard _thump_. "But he didn't kill me, clearly."

"Not yet." Alby interrupted, ruining any plan Thomas had of convincing Newt to leave the shell he had hidden himself in and tell his part. "But give it time."

The fierce protective anger rushed through Thomas and he forgot all plan of protocol as he fixed his eyes on the Glade Leader slouching in his chair like a petted child. Somehow when Newt did that same move to was oddly charming. Alby just looked menacing and angry.

"If he was going to he would've by now." he snapped back, ignoring the rash of murmuring as he took a step forwards. There was a hand on his arm but he ignored it. "I was _unconscious_ when those Doors opened, Alby. We were waiting on the other side. That means that before dawn even broke Newt was himself again and making sure I didn't die. Does that sound like-"

"You have no shuck-ass clue what you're talking about!" Alby shouted, getting to his feet so fiercely that his chair toppled over. "You all saw it! Why are we sitting around even _debating_ this? All of you here have seen this before! You've seen the way the sting changed them! He'll kill us all! He goes out when those Doors close and-"

"He's not going anywhere!"

Thomas had had enough and he was done playing nice with Alby. The boy was crazy and Thomas was _done_ with it. Alby rounded on him, stalking right up to the front of the room. Thomas's hand curled at his sides, ready. There was a feeling almost like relief beginning to trickle into his veins. _Finally_. If Alby wanted a fight, Thomas would sure as shuck give him it.

"You have been nothing but trouble since you turned up here!" Alby roared, approaching Thomas menacingly.

Thomas braced himself as Alby drew near, ready to swing when the older boy did. He barely bit back his frustrated cry as Gally stepped in front of Thomas from the side, joined by Minho from the other. Thomas heard Alby growl, and found himself sneering back even though at that moment the Glade Leader couldn't see him.

"I always knew you couldn't be trusted, Minho, but come on Gally! You really believe he's found a way to fic this? You've had as much trouble with him as anybody! He's nothing but trouble!"

Gally was saying something back but Thomas was watching the Keepers who were getting up, muttering to each other and looking like they were about to bolt. He couldn't lose this opportunity. They had to get them on side, make them see what had happened wasn't a reason to thrown them all out at the Closing.

"Guys! Wait!"

He turned to Alby, desperate to get an answer for the older boy's rash behaviour. To save Newt. To work this whole thing out like he knew they could. If Alby would just stop being such a shuck-face about it all.

"Why won't you even let us _try_? He's already proven that he can control whatever it is that sting does to him! Why won't you trust him? He's your friend, Alby! He's your second-in-command! He's been there for you for three years and you're just going to throw that away when we _know_ he's not going to go off and kill us like you said? And us! You really think the Gladers are going to support you throwing us all out because we have a different opinion? Why are you _doing_ this?"

The gathered Keepers had had enough, everyone starting to yell over each other as they started picking sides. It didn't matter when Minho shouted for quiet, or when Gally shouted back at Alby for something he'd said that Thomas couldn't hear. Thomas thought he might have completely blown their chance now. The idea was frightening, to say the least.

"Because!" Alby roared, silencing them all. Every face turned to him in surprise. Thomas almost choked on the breath he'd been taking. "Newt wasn't the second Glader sent up."

The room was silent. Thomas was sure everybody had caught their breath just as he had as they all stared at the furious Glade Leader.

"What the bloody hell d'ya mean, I wasn't second?"

Newt had been quiet for so long that Thomas was oddly relieved to hear him speak. Alby looked right at Newt for the first time since he'd entered their Gathering. His face was twisted and Thomas was surprised to see fear there, under the fury and aggression. Newt was looking at him like he'd been betrayed and Thomas couldn't blame him. He felt his hand itching to take Newt's at the look in those brown eyes.

"Because you were fifth." Alby finally answered.


End file.
